#bernard demarco x oc

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 2

Masterlist | Chapter 1 |-| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: During a party at the officers' club, DeMarco gets the chance to smooth things over with Susie, and she shows her true colours when defending one of her friends

Warnings: Language, smoking, harassment, misogyny, violence

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

Susie jolted awake to the sudden bang of a door swinging shut, squinting in the unbearable brightness of the light which she assumed to be morning. "Susie!" Charlotte's voice hit her ears, and she folded her arms tightly over her head to block everything out, inhaling the smell of cigarette smoke. That was strange.

"What?" She groaned.

"You fell asleep in your uniform. Get up."

Blinking slowly, Susie looked down at herself, and sure enough, she was dressed head-to-toe in her dress greens, her shoes still on her feet, one leg dangling off the side of her mattress as she lay on top of the crumpled blankets. "...Oh shit. Is it morning?"

One of the other ATS girls let out a bark of laughter, and Charlotte shook her head, a smile curling her lip. "No. We just got in from the pub, it's been... what, three hours since you left?"

"God, no wonder I feel like shit."

"You look like it too. Are you sure you're alright? Not like you to call it a night after only one pint."

Susie's hand fell to her pocket, and she felt the cool metal of the money DeMarco had given her against her fingertips. She nodded weakly. "Yeah. No, I'm just tired."

Charlotte raised a brow discerningly, sitting down on the edge of Susie's bed. "Right. Get up, get out of that uniform, and tell me what's wrong. I'll iron your stuff tomorrow, I have to do mine anyway."

Her brow was furrowed in confusion but she obliged nonetheless, rising to her feet as she began to peel away her uniform, the inhabitants of their hut far too familiar with one another to be embarrassed about any state of undress. "What, you want to... listen to me talk about my feelings?"

"Yes, Susie. You know - like an actual human."

"Sounds terrible-"

"Susie!"

"Right, yeah, ok. Well... I think I'm frustrated."

Charlotte's mouth hung slightly agape, as if watching a baby giraffe learn to walk for the first time. "... you think?"

"No, no. I am," She nodded firmly. "... Yeah. There was a bloke I thought might've been my friend but it turned out he was pissin' me about."

"What a shit."

"...Yeah." Susie agreed, a distinct air of uncertainty lacing her voice. Charlotte stared at her like she was encountering alien life for the first time. The cold night air stung her bare skin as she hurried to pull on some pyjamas, uniform laid out as neatly as she could upon the bed. Even inside the Nissen huts, it was never fully warm - on particularly nasty nights, the women would pass around thick, wool socks so that everyone could double up on layers, the thin army-issue blankets doing little to keep them insulated. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Y'know, I don't think you're mean, Suze," Charlotte pointed out as she gathered the crumpled clothes. "Just... socially incompetent."

"Noted," Susie nodded, collapsing face-first onto the bed, the spring mattress shrieking its objection as she bounced up and down a few times below slowly settling to a halt. In her mind, it didn't matter why people didn't like her - they just did, and she wasn't very interested in changing herself to avoid it. Everyone had always liked her sisters growing up, and it mostly seemed to mean that they never got left alone. But Susie liked being left alone.

Or at least, she managed to convince herself that she did.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had long since set, a warm glow and the echo of brass music echoing from within the officers' club, a steady hum of conversation carrying on the breeze. Standing out in the darkness, back pressed against the wall, Susie pulled her cigarette away from her lips, a huge cloud of smoke erupting before her. She and Charlotte sported matching lights, the small, burning embers flickering orange as they puffed away in silence. Charlotte smoked about a dozen a day, but she refused to do it inside, repulsed by both the lingering smell of her own smoke and the thought of men watching her do it. It always seemed hypocritical to Susie, but nevertheless, she accompanied her, waiting patiently until they were both done.

"Freddy's back in town on Wednesday," Charlotte stated, breaking the silence that hung between them. She had been engaged to the RAF pilot for over a year, but there had never been time or money enough to arrange the lavish wedding they both so desperately wanted. Susie had only met the man once or twice, but he seemed a good bloke to her, albeit excessively chipper. She never quite trusted optimists.

"Oh, give him my best. I've got a pick-up run to fucking Peterborough on that day - apparently, they've got a shortage of vehicles, so I've gotta go all the way to them. Bloody waste of a day, really," She complained, lightly kicking one of the old empty beer bottles on the ground and sending it spinning across the tarmac.

"You should get the truck checked before you go - you'd hate to break down somewhere. I can call Bevan or something, she'll give it a look."

"Nah. I haven't been having any problems, I won't waste her time. She's got enough on her plate."

One of their bunkmates, a young woman named Maeve, tore open the door to the club, the music splitting the air. Her hat sat lop-sided on her head, cropped blonde hair erupting in frizz from the sweat that beaded on her forehead. "Are you gonna come in or what? I've already danced with three Yanks, how long does it take to smoke one fag?"

"Alright, Jesus," Susie rolled her eyes, twisting her heel as she stomped hers out. The sudden noise was jarring as they headed inside, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the light after spending so much time outside. She couldn't quite remember what the party was even for, but the Americans didn't strike her as a group in need of much of a reason for one.

The women from her hut were all either crowded at one end of the bar or dancing with some of the men that filled the room, and Susie immediately made a beeline for the former, utterly uninterested in a bit of dull conversation or awkward flirting with a man she'd undoubtedly never speak to again. Her sister Beatrice often complained she had an un-romantic view of the world - she preferred the term 'realist'.

She had barely had time to take a sip of her first drink before she felt a tug at her trouser leg. Peering down, she met a familiar pair of dark eyes, Meatball's tongue lolling out of his mouth as he stared up at her, tail thumping against Maeve's leg as it wagged incessantly. The women were delighted by his sudden appearance, crouching down to scratch beneath his chin and rub under his belly, the dog revelling in the attention. But Meatball's presence meant one thing.

"Susie?"

Susie stood up straight, wiping a line of beer foam away from her lip as she found herself face-to-face with DeMarco, a stern frown creasing her expression. She'd managed to successfully avoid him for nearly a week, but with her back pressed up against the bar there was no escape.

She never dressed like she was supposed to be where she was. It was something Benny liked about her. Her hair fell uncurled down her back, her tie hanging loose around her neck, the top button of her shirt undone. Hand planted firmly on her hip, she appeared even more irritated by his presence than she had the first time they'd met.

"Look, can we-" He paused, an idea slowly surfacing. "... Will you dance with me?"

Maeve and Charlotte were both staring, expressions prompting her forward. DeMarco's friends were huddled nearby, clearly watching the scene, close enough to hear every word.

He's backed you into a corner. He's forcing you to answer. If you say no, he's made sure you're the one who'll look like an asshole.

What a dick.

"Fine." Teeth clenched, a bitter sweetness lacing her voice, she seized his arm, marching him towards the dancefloor and leaving the other women to fawn and coo over Meatball.

He stared down at the hand she had on his sleeve, frowning at the stiffness of her grip. Her shoulders were visibly tense, and he could feel the reluctance in every step she took. "... You look nice," He pointed out, flashing a smile.

Susie paused in the centre of the floor, taking his hand with about as much enthusiasm as if she were at a funeral. "Right. Sure."

The music had picked up, more than a dozen couples filling the room, dancing merrily. DeMarco liked this song. He'd danced to it countless times, with far more cheerful, willing partners. He could feel the warmth of her skin as he put a hand on her waist, and with a start realised that she was actually rather good at this. Staring down at the smooth movement of her feet, he almost forgot what he had come to say.

Clearing his throat slightly, Benny met her eye. “Susie, look. I know I don’t know you very well-”

“That is correct," She nodded firmly, and he fought the urge to scoff.

“Can you let me finish?! Jesus. I know I don’t know you very well - but - I can tell you’re not going to admit you were wrong. So I’m gonna do it for you. Susie, you were wrong. I was not trying to use you to get close to your friends - one of Charlotte’s friends had a date with one of my guys tonight, and I was asked to pass on a message that he had to cancel. That's why I needed to talk to her, you were just so-...” His mouth opened and shut as he tried to find the word, hand releasing hers for a moment to flail wildly in the air. “-You!"

Her gaze had begun to soften, and for a moment he felt a pit of guilt burrow in his stomach. "…But I’m sorry that’s happened to you before. Some guys can be real jerks.”

“Oh, really, thank you for the warning,” Susie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. DeMarco frowned flatly, and she cleared her throat. “Right. Yeah… Ok.” 

"It usually helps when you let people finish their sentences," He shrugged, and she tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. When he slipped his hand back into hers, she was noticeably less tense.

"Well, I didn't know what you were gonna say."

"Exactly, Suze. That's what the rest of the sentence was for," DeMarco pointed out, unable to restrain a chuckle, flashing a boyish, lopsided grin. She felt her cheeks heat up, and let out a snort of laughter herself, her stubbornness ridiculous in hindsight. After a moment, Susie couldn't help but laugh - a real, melodious laugh, erupting from deep within her throat, eyes squeezed shut as her head tilted forward, a single auburn curl slipping over her shoulder to hang in her face.

He paused, the shuffling of his feet slowing, falling out of time with the music. She seemed all hard lines and rough edges, far too much so to ever produce such a wonderful sound. It was the kind of laugh that made a person feel lighter just for hearing it, and DeMarco hadn't realised quite how much he'd been staring until Bucky's teasing grin caught his eye from across the room, and he snapped out of it before Susie could notice.

The song reached its end, and her steps slowed to a halt, prying her hands away from his. "Right, you interrupted me before I could finish my drink, so I'm gonna go find it," She nodded determinedly, Meatball wiggling his way through the crowd to nip at her heels as she walked, his tail wagging back and forth wildly. Accepting her departure, Benny drifted back over to his friends, accepting a drink as it was passed to him.

"Breaking that shell, huh?" Bucky asked, that same pleased smirk creasing his cheeks.

His eyes narrowed slightly, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "Don't believe everything ya hear, John."

Susie pried her shoulders through the press of bodies that had gathered around the bar, hands raised as she side-stepped between a few officers, watching keenly for her half-finished beer. She spotted Maeve, stood dutifully with a glass in each hand, and realised with a smile that she'd been keeping an eye on it for her. A pilot she didn't recognise was stood beside Maeve at the bar, talking her ear off, and by the uneasy expression on her face, she wasn't exactly enjoying it.

"Thanks, love," Forcing a smile, she took her drink back, purposely shouldering in between the pair, cutting off the pilot mid-sentence. He let out a frustrated grunt, but Susie didn't offer him a second glance, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on Maeve's arm. The newest member of her crew, the girl had been freshly nineteen when she arrived at Thorpe Abbotts only a few months ago. She was bubbly, blunt, energetic, and something about her seemed familiar to Susie, something that kept her tethered at her side. "I was just talking to Charlotte-" She lied, deliberately refusing to address the third member of their party. "-and we were talking about going down to the pub instead, find some better beer."

The pilot cleared his throat, speaking up. Something about his smooth accent rubbed Susie the wrong way. "Excuse me? Maeve, we should get on the dancefloor before the next song starts."

Shaking her head, Susie wedged herself even more firmly between the two, shouldering Maeve behind her. "No, she's not gonna be doing that."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Well, now you are."

The air itself had grown tense around them, drawing the stares of others just trying to enjoy their evening. Further down the bar, she noticed DeMarco and his friends watching with furrowed brows, sporting identical frowns as they slowly put down their beers in anticipation. She felt Maeve's fingers brush against her own behind her back, searching for her hand.

The pilot was growing more and more irritated by the second. "Listen, we're all just here to have a good time," He said tensely. "It's one dance, it's not gonna hurt anyone."

Maeve's hand squeezed hers, a wordless way of saying 'Yes it will'.

"I think we've established that's not happening, Yank. Now why don't you fuck off and bother someone else, before this becomes a problem."

He scoffed, clearly doubting Susie's ability to make this altercation any sort of problem for him. Over his shoulder, she noticed DeMarco making his way through the crowd towards them, frown darkening his entire face. "There an issue here?" He asked, voice sterner than she'd ever heard it.

"Yeah, DeMarco - why don't you come over here and put a muzzle on your bitch, huh?"

The moment the words left the man's mouth, DeMarco was lunging forward, Blakeley's hands seizing his shoulders before he could cause any real damage. A self-satisfied smirk curled the pilot's lips, but in the moment DeMarco had dove at him, he had failed to notice Susie, upturning her beer and pouring every last drop down her throat in a single gulp. By the time his head turned back towards the two women, her fist was already clenched and pulled back, and an almighty crack echoed through the officers' club as her knuckles collided with his jaw. Staggering backwards, his side slammed into the bar, undoubtedly leaving some nasty bruises as he tumbled backwards, landing flat on his ass on the polished wood floor.

A stunned silence had descended upon the room, every eye locked onto the scene, a few snickers rising from the crowd as the pilot gawped up at her, eyes wide and gormless. "C'mon," Susie uttered, taking advantage of the sudden stillness to worm her way through the crowd, tugging Maeve along by the hand, the girl staring slack-jawed at the scene as they passed.

Susie hadn't realised how stifling the officers' club was until they breached the doorway, stepping out into the cold night air, no light except for a single streetlamp, which flickered and buzzed intermittently. Her knuckles throbbed painfully, shoulder reeling from the sudden swing, but the pain seemed washed away the moment Maeve let out a laugh - a shrill, hysteric giggle, hands clamped tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound, eyes wide in shock.

"Holy shit, Susie!" She cackled, and soon Susie had begun to grin too, their expressions painted in sheer disbelief at the scene that had just occurred. "That was fucking cool! Quick - let's go back in there and kick 'im before he can get up."

"No, no!" Susie chuckled, grabbing Maeve's wrist to stop her from marching straight back inside again. "We're in enough trouble as it is, let's not, eh? Save it for next time we see him," She winked, making the younger girl giggle.

Suddenly Maeve gasped, a hand raised to her scalp. "Oh shit, I left my hat inside."

The sound of footsteps just inside the doorway caught their attention, and out hurried DeMarco, Major Egan tailing close behind, Maeve's ATS cap in hand. "You guys ok? You hurt?" Benny called, brow creased in concern.

"Oh, we are so great," Maeve laughed, accepting her hat with many grateful thanks. "I mean did you see that? One hit - bam! - down!" Susie nodded along, beginning to chuckle, her cheeks burning a bright red.

"Yeah, it'll be even more impressive if I manage to keep my job," She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Well, I dunno about you, Benny, but I sure didn't see anything," Egan shrugged.

"Not a thing," DeMarco concurred, grinning. She met his gaze, and for a moment they both struggled not to burst into laughter.

"Right, well I'm not nearly drunk enough to go home yet," Maeve declared, glancing around at the group to gauge their reactions. "Pub? Pub anyone?"

"Not for me," Susie shook her head. "Even if everyone denies what just happened, I'm already on second chances. I'm gonna get some sleep before I have to deal with it tomorrow."

"I'll go," Egan nodded. "Keep an eye on the kid."

"Thank you," She smiled earnestly, taking Maeve's cap and tucking it beneath her arm. They'd all told the girl not to wear it out, but she'd insisted, and it was becoming burdensome. John and Maeve began making their way towards the village, their chatter muffled the further away they got. Turning on her heel, Susie began to return to her hut, before the sudden sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention.

DeMarco was walking beside her, hands in his pockets. "Walk you back?"

"And abandon your dog? Shame on you."

He shrugged. "Meatball's been all over Buck, he'll be fine. That dog's a goddamn traitor."

She chuckled. "He's going through the rebellious teenager phase - wants anyone except his dad."

"No one told me parenthood would be this hard, y'know," Benny joked, a flash of teeth peeking through his lopsided smile. "Your hand feelin' ok?"

Susie lifted the hand she'd used to punch the pilot, a twinge of pain making her wince slightly as she flexed her knuckles. DeMarco reached out to gently hold it, peering down at the bruising already blooming across the back of her palm. "It was a damn good swing, I'll give you that," He admitted, and she let out a chuckle.

Neither spoke for a moment, until he broke the silence once more. "Hey, what'd you mean when you said you're 'already on second chances'?"

"Ah," Susie nodded. "Well, that's where the reputation comes from. A while ago, before you Yanks got here, I got in an argument with an RAF officer - headbutted him so hard I broke his nose. I nearly got fired, but now everyone who's been around long enough knows about it, they think I've got a screw loose or summat."

"No shit - are you serious?"

"As the plague."

DeMarco let out a long, low whistle. "Y'know, I just assumed it was 'cause you're..."

"A grumpy old bitch?"

"Yeah, that," He agreed, letting out a guffaw as she punched him in the shoulder. "Hey! You said it, not me!"

"Prick," Susie smirked, shaking her head. The officers' club wasn't far from the ATS huts, and it wasn't long before they reached her door. Pulling Maeve's hat out from under her arm, she placed it atop her head, jokingly tipping it to him in goodbye as she fumbled for her keys. "Well, if I still have a job tomorrow I'll see you around."

"You will," DeMarco nodded. "And hey, if they try to fire you, I'll tell 'em you're essential for dog-sitting purposes."

"Oh yeah, my main calling in life," She shook her head, smiling as the lock clicked and she swung the door open. "G'night DeMarco."

"Y'know, you're allowed to call me Benny."

Her expression contorted in a grimace, clearly not a fan of the nickname. "I think I'm good."

"Jesus Christ," He muttered. "Go to bed, Susie, just get outta my sight."

With one last laugh, she slipped inside, vanishing as the door swung shut behind her, leaving him alone in the darkness. Smirking to himself, he shoved his hands into his pockets, beginning the long walk back to his bunk.

[upontherisers]

in this room 'til we die

a/n: it has been ages, truly ages since i posted my work on here and, well, mota has given me brainrot. this tumbled out of me between midnight and 2:00 am and i'm happy to share it with you. title is from 'The Elevator' off of lizzy mcalpine's newest album. meet lieutenant vera west, bombardier

She’s trying to remember the feeling of it as she lies on the floor behind her seat. The moonlight flowing in from the nose dome brightens the space just enough to remind her where she is, but keeps the details hidden. Good. The thing she’s here for is in her mind. The rest is set dressing.

She closes her eyes and pushes her shoulder blades into the bottom of the machine below her. She’d melt herself into the floor if she could, mix with the metal until there’s no difference between person and plane. She’d become the bird herself. The belly of the plane pushes back at her and the pain activates her heart, which activates her instinct. She can do this. She can do this. 

Pilot to bombardier—Ginny’s voice washes over her—the plane is yours.

She knows what to do next, easy as breathing. Get the target in her bomb sight, give the crew the count down, hit the release, and bombs away. Bombardier to pilot, the plane is yours. I’m giving it to you, Ginny! The plane is yours. Do you hear me? You can come back, the plane is yours. They shake and jolt through flak as behind her, Knick Knack shouts the new heading to the pilots. All Vera can do is get back on her turret and pray that they make it through. 

They get hit. She knows they get hit from the monstrous boom on their left side and the sudden lurch the plane takes. There’s barely enough time to grab her chute as she’s screaming for everyone to bail, do it! do it now! But the bell doesn’t ring. Knick Knack keeps giving their bearings and Ginny keeps her steady. Can’t you hear me? Get out! Get out! It all goes black.

She gasps back into her body with a shout, the dark flooding her eyes. The shaking in her hands is back and she curses herself. Do the damn job. Her hands shaking could be—no—would be the difference between someone’s life and death, and she could not bear another nine on her conscience. She’ll run it until her hands stop shaking. If it takes all night and all of the next day and all of the next war. She has a job to do and she will not fail. Not again.

One measured breath, then another up into the roof of the nose, then she closes her eyes again, hears Ginny’s voice. Pilot to bombardier, the plane is yours.

The hatch to the nose opens but she ignores it. There’s a job to do. Give the crew the countdown. Bomb bay doors opening. Hit the release. Bombardier to pilot, the plane is yours. Ginny doesn’t answer. Bombardier to pilot, like being louder would do anything, the plane is yours. The plane is—

“It’s late.”

Benny DeMarco climbs into the nose, brushing his shoulder with hers as he lies down next to her. 

She doesn’t open her eyes. “I’m tryna fly.”

“That’s my job.”

The Ginny in her head goes silent and Vera sighs, opening her eyes. The roof of Our Baby is too obscured in shadow to make out much, but she can see the dents and dings she knows are there. How many more could it take? How many more Luftwaffe shells could find their way inside before they’re careening out of the sky, too? What would it feel like as the bottom drops out? She wishes Ginny or Tanner or Knick Knack were here to tell her. But they aren’t and she is with her shaking hands and racing heart and fear of flying or falling and she wasn’t sure which it was. 

“Hey, hey, now.”

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Benny sits up to brush at her cheeks with a gentle thumb. She lets him and tries to stop more tears from welling up at his sincerity. There’s no judgment in him as he holds her face, only that soft, knowing smile and those bright eyes, the light in them not gone yet. Thank God for you, Benny Demarco. 

He doesn’t say anything once he withdraws his hand, tucking his knees to his chest and laying his elbows out so that he could rest his head in the crook of his shoulder while looking around, arched brows giving away his curiosity. His genuine inquisitiveness makes her sniffle a giggle, and he nudges her with his foot. “What?”

“You look like you’ve never seen the nose before.”

He shrugs. “I’m never in here.”

“You should stop by more often, see what a real job looks like.” 

He jabs at her this time, and she really laughs. “Hey!”

“I didn’t come here to get razzed.”

“Then why’d you come at all?”

“Got back from the pub, saw your bed was empty,” he says, and he’s looking around again. She wonders why. “Buck wanted a head count. I had a feeling I knew where you’d be.”

“So you’re here for Buck.” She doesn’t know why she says it. He’s doing a nice thing for her as a friend—in his Army issued tank-top under his leather jacket, no cap, hair slipping out of its pomade. He should be in bed but he’s not, he’s here with her and she’s too stuffed up with her grief, her anger to thank him like she should.

He looks at her again and gives her a rueful half smile. “I’m here for you.”

That sits painfully on her heart. That’s not right—it’s the other way around. He’s the pilot and she’s the bombardier; it’s her job to get past herself and do her duty. Benny gets them through the flak and firestorms and all she has to do is drop the bombs. It isn’t so difficult and yet she nearly failed him the last two times they were in the air, with her shaky hands and Ginny in her head and Buck having to bellow over them both in order for her to drop. 

Her face burns with shame as tears bubble up again. She’s a coward, plain and simple, and she knows it. Everyone else can move on, get into the air again and complete the mission without being paralyzed, stuck between flying and falling, but she’s here night after night, begging her hands to steady just enough not to stutter on the release hatch. 

She thinks of the girl she was when she landed in England, bursting at the seams with fight and fervor, unstoppable, hungry to get up there. That girl trusted herself and her hands and her crew… her crew, the women who’d lived in her head as much as she lived in theirs. The women who’d made flying as easy as breathing. Her sisters in arms, the other parts of her brain, the reasons she couldn’t think straight anymore. She calls out into the blue once more—bombardier to pilot, the plane is yours—but it’s silent across the sky.

She wants to scream, she wants to throw something, she wants to kick and break and howl like the boys get to do but instead, all she can do is cry, and Benny is right there when she does, gathering her in his arms and cooing into her hair. “I know, I know.”

It takes a while for her to stop, longer than she’d like to admit, but he’s with her the whole time, patient as a saint. She holds on for dear life; there is no other option. There’s falling or flying or him, and he’s the only place that feels safe. His arms are warm as he tucks her into his chest and his legs bracket hers, holding her anguish, not letting it drop to the floor. He smells of cigarettes and his whiskey of choice and the sweet, spicy cologne he puts on when they’re on a stand down the next day. He smells of himself as she forgets what her girls smelled like—Ginny’s orangy perfume and Tanner’s hot comb oil that lingered after doing half the hair on base. 

You’re all I have now, Benny. And what if I lose you, too?

The thought redoubles her grief and her breath eludes her until she’s heaving.

He sits her up. “In and out, West, c’mon.” In and out. That’s usually Buck’s line, reserved for getting her out of her stupor and back on her gun after the bomb bay doors close. Benny says it with none of the major’s disappointment and all of his own kindness.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually croaks, trying to smooth out the wrinkles her fists put in his shirt. 

A comforting hand runs up her back, between her nightshirt and jacket. “Don’t be.”

Silence falls.

It’s quiet on the hard stand, a rare night when the ground crews aren’t hammering away until dawn. From the dome, she can see straight down the runways and out into the fields of East Anglia. The town’s lights are low in the far distance. It’s quiet for them, too.

The entire base has tomorrow off, which would normally mean raucousness to the nth degree, but things haven’t been the same since they came back from Algeria. Well, maybe John Egan’s the same, but the rest of them, the rest of them can’t stomach it like they used to—the empty beds in the barracks, the new crews that only last a few weeks, the war of attrition in the air, the sawmill, the fact that there’s no end in sight. They’re going up again in two days, to heaven or hellfire. 

She shudders and asks her hands to steady, if not for her then for Benny and the rest of the fort.

He pulls her into him again, murmuring into her hair. “You’ve been scaring us, Vee.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know, but you do.” 

“I just,” she starts without knowing where she’s going, “I just—” I’m drowning in the air, the floor’s out from under me and there’s nothing but sky above. “I miss my crew,” she settles on. 

He scoffs. “You have a crew.”

“No, I have a bunch of guys that let a basket case sit at the front of their fort—”

“Hey.” A hand cups her jaw, tilting it so that she looks him in the eyes. She’s never known brown to shine like that, in the light or in the dark. “I’d take a bullet for you, so would everyone else.”

Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? That there’s another nine willing to leave her all alone with no thought to how it’d make her feel. No one’s ever the poor sap they tell stories about—the only paratrooper that survived the jump, the last woman standing out of three platoons, a lone P-40 fighting its way home, all that’s left of a mighty squadron. No one’s ever the poor sap until they are, and then they’re just another story to tell. I know a bombardier who took some flak to the chest, had to be grounded for a few days. The day before she’s discharged, her whole crew goes up without her and ends up crashing, no chutes. They’d just beaten the odds, too, flew twelve missions, went down on thirteen.

Then she becomes another superstition to add to salt and mirrors. Make sure your crew’s together for your thirteenth, never go up without your original bombardier. She’s a walking ghost story, the frequent recipient of poorly concealed pointed fingers and whispers behind hands. She’s not a hero who landed a bird on one engine and three dead crew. She’s the left behind, the abandoned, she should’ve gone down with her ship. No one wants to be her. 

Some days, she thinks that’s a fate worse than death. 

Benny can’t understand that and she doesn’t want him to, but he’s searching her face for an answer nonetheless. She reaches up and holds his cheek. He leans into her touch and she’s proud that her hand doesn’t shake, that he takes a breath for himself as she brushes her thumb over his soft, warm skin, touching that darling beauty mark that she finds so charming.

“Vera,” he whispers. 

That’s not enough, because he doesn’t get it yet. I can’t lose you. She lifts her other hand, cradles his face, and beholds—really looks—as if her gaze would be enough to protect him. He’s always been good to the girls, always quick to check a man who was out of line, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on, and since her girls went down, a genuine friend, careful and brash with her, keeping her feet on the ground. 

I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you. All the quiet meals in the mess, the long walks with Meatball when she needs to get out of the barracks, all the nights in the nose spent talking her back into bed when she insists on one more practice run. I can’t lose you. A lump forms in her throat and her eyes burn. She scrunches up her nose to stop herself from crying again and furiously swipes at her eyes. There’s been enough tears tonight.

He laughs, bright and brassy, and sits back as she sits up.

“What?”

“You’re the toughest bombardier I’ve ever met.”

It’s her turn to kick at him but he grabs her ankle. “I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious, Benny.”

There’s that smile that picks her spirits up.

She sighs and lies back down, wiggling as flat as she can. He takes the place next to her and it’s quiet except for the sounds of their breathing just above their faces. The floor is cool and he’s warm, and she wants to practice some more, but maybe she could rest for a bit. 

He nudges her arm after a few moments. “Can’t sleep here.”

“'M tryna fly.”

“Enough trying. You fly, you’re a flyer. You need to sleep.”

She doesn’t do that much these days and she tells him such. 

“I’ll let you take Meatball tonight.”

She opens one eye. “Yeah?” Meatball has a bed at the foot of Benny’s, but occasionally he parts with him long enough to let her have a night of snuggles with her favorite canine. 

“Sure, if you promise to stay in bed until reveille.”

Now that’s tempting.

[wexhappyxfew]

some news for anyone interested in seeing this in AO3 format and on their site! i just posted this little blind dates prompt/one shot there for anyone wanting to come back to it in the future! thanks for all the love - it is beyond appreciated in my tiny corner!

light up my lover's way (on AO3)

light up my lover's way

BLIND DATES FEST 2024

featuring: Florence 'Flo' Godfrey and Captain Bernard 'Benny' DeMarco + Meatball being the ultimate wingman Absolutely beyond excited to put this out. Florence has been living in my brain for some time, but Masters of the Air and @blind-dates-fest (thank you Merc for the fun!) offered the perfect opportunity to do some writing and recently, with the episodes we've gotten, I've become a big DeMarco fan and wanted to see what I could do. I tried to really nail down how I could write him since we don't have a whole lot of content from him, and I didn't feel the most comfortable writing in the MoTA universe yet just because I wanted to see all the episodes first, but I wanted to give it the old college try and really enjoyed how this piece and how Florence came out! She was a treat to write and considering her story, this was a night for her well deserved! I missed out last year because of school stress and this year, wanted to be kinder to myself and allow some time to test out the waters with writing in MoTA. Please enjoy Flo and her time with DeMarco! :)

The mirror stared back at her with a more than poignant look on her face, as she gazed at her rugged-looking hair that had surely seen better days.

Extensive time out in the sun on the tarmac, with plenty of harsh oils and chemicals meant for planes and not exactly hair would do the trick though. Self-assured, she reached back and ripped a brush through the caramel ends of her hair that were in need of cutting and sighed quietly to herself before glancing back at her reflection.

Lemmons had encouraged her to take the night off - you've been working hard, Godfrey, take the night to get a drink or better yet, a full night of sleep where you're not thinking entirely about all things plane-related. She'd been pretty hesitant, she'd even told him that he was the one who needed the night off, but he'd quickly brushed some dirt off her shoulder, helped her scrub out the paint stain from her OD jacket and then promptly shoved her off in the direction of the celebration in the nearby hall that a good portion of the men and pilots had gathered into. She'd taken the time to gather herself, clean herself up and look presentable, but she was left appearing hesitant to even leave her room.

Florence Godfrey felt more mechanic some days than woman, but on days like that, she usually found some of the Red Cross girls and spent nights trading cigarettes, telling stories and sharing coffee from the potbelly stove in the corner that worked to keep them all warm. Sometimes, she tried to work so stringently that when she got in, she'd lay down and reflect and cry.

But, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights, no, her hands weren't covered in grease, her hair wasn't matted with sweat and her boots weren't soaked with mud and ice-cold water.

No, she actually had washed up, powdered her face, pulled a bit of lipstick onto her slightly chapped lips, and smiled to herself, the dress that fell below her knees a beautiful baby-bird blue.

Lemmons had been right - finally do something for yourself, give yourself the wheel of life. She wanted to do that for herself, more than anything.

The celebration in the hall was dying down - she took a glance at her watch - it was past midnight and people were slowly pouring out, a few couples still slowly swaying in the middle of the floor, some others milling about or talking quietly with gentle smiles in corners outside of the main doors.

Florence smiled quietly to herself - even just to get a drink that wasn't her inhaling water to keep herself from feeling parched. She'd never really allowed herself a freedom like this away from the planes, away from the other mechanics and ground crewmen. She'd always told herself to do her job, do what was needed of her and then bed out and wake the next time she was needed. She had always been like that though ever since working with Dad at the Navy Yard as a 9-year-old, learning all the bits and bobs that made things run and function.

Florence waded into the softly lit bar where only a few people were still at, finishing last minute drinks or basking in the quietly gleaming Billie Holiday singing 'If You Were Mine' over the speakers in the corners of the room. Florence walked up to the edge of the bar and offered a smile at the bartender who came towards her and offered a smile back and nodded.

"What can I interest you in tonight, Miss��.?"

"Godfrey. Florence Godfrey," Florence said with a soft smile, "I'll take a French 75 if it's possible." The bartender smiled with a nod and turned away, whisking himself away to start prepping. Florence grinned to herself and then looked up towards the wooden ceiling, covered in pretty lights and patterned carvings.

Suddenly, she felt a presence at her….feet? Florence took a moment to think before looking down and seeing a beautiful, gray dog sniffing at her shoes, a brown harness around his soft fur and his puppy-dog eyes quickly looking up at her in excitement and glee.

"Awe, hello there!" Florence said, kneeling down in front of the mixed-husky dog, petting his face, her heart immediately softening at the sight as she laughed quietly to herself, "Aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen in months." The dog licked at her cheeks and she let out a laugh as she rubbed behind his ears, the dog's tongue hanging out as his whole body seemed to shake with excitement, tail in all directions.

"Hey, Meatball, don't go sneaking up on the ladies," a voice called from behind the dog.

Florence looked up from, if she caught the name correctly - Meatball, the dog - and found instead one of the pilots of the B-17s walking towards her, gentle eyes lingering on her, long enough for a crimson color to rush her cheeks, his hair dark and nicely cut and styled, and the small smile on his face suddenly making her think that this pilot was actually the prettiest thing she'd seen in months. Florence felt a warmth enter her body, a quiet calm overcoming her as she felt an uncontrollable smile cross her lips, as she slowly rose back to her feet and watched the pilot come closer, the thrum of a quiet Louis Armstrong song entering her ears.

"Italian or Swedish?" Florence couldn't help but say as the pilot neared, his eyes deep and dark, but soothing and welcoming all the same. The pilot let out a soft laugh, his eyes trailing down to Meatball, the dog - she'd never get over how adorable that was - before looking to her.

"Italian." he said, with a nod, "Why? Don't think he fits the part?" Florence let out a quiet laugh and kneeled down again to Meatball and scratched beside his little head and laughed.

"I think he's adorable," she said, "how'd you get a hold on him?" The pilot smiled at her and leaned against the bar.

"Boarded a B-17 with me back in Greenland, was a real good sport the whole flight," the pilot said and then shrugged a bit, "I think I convinced him that he'd make a good co-pilot." Florence laughed as she stood to her feet again and looked at him with soft eyes.

"I don't think it'd be proper of me to only think of you as Meatball's Dad," she said, watching the small smile on his face quickly grow, "gotta name?"

"DeMarco. Captain Bernard DeMarco, but you can just call me DeMarco, whatever suites your fancy." he said, before chuckling slightly, before imitating, "Some of the guys like to yell, DeMarcooooo!" Then he looked to her and smiled.

"You don't have to do all that though," he said, leaning closer slightly, "Benny'll do just fine. Special cases." Florence stared at him quietly for a moment and then grinned.

"Benny it is…..Captain," she said, before holding out a hand, "Godfrey. Florence Godfrey, but you can just call me Godfrey, whatever suites your fancy." She smirked slightly at his face as he reached out and shook her hand.

"Some of the guys I work with like to yell," and she woefully imitated Lemmons, "Godfreyyyyy!" She then leaned closer to him and smiled up into his beautiful, tender eyes.

"You don't have to do all that though," she whispered, "Flo'll do just fine…..special cases." Benny stared at her for a moment, before breaking out into a wide smile and gently holding her hand in between them like a sacred piece of life.

"Goddess of flowers," he whispered quietly, his voice a soft rumble, "Flo." She smiled up at him.

"Ma thought it was pretty." she offered to him. He smiled at her in the dimmed light of the bar, that Ella Fitzgerald song she was always forgetting the name of somewhere above their heads, eyes warm and simply, only on her.

"Your Ma was right." he said back to her, staring at her with genuineness and fullness in his eyes. She felt her face warm and let out a laugh at his words, covering her mouth as she did so. Looking back up at him, she watched him stare right back at her and smiled as her hand fell from her mouth.

"I've never seen you around in here before," he said softly, "couldn't help but introduce myself, or well, Meatball, for introducing us." Florence looked down to Meatball, sat patiently staring up between them with his ever-caring eyes that dogs always seemed to have.

"He likes you," Benny said, his hand, which evidently was larger than hers, still clasped around her own, with no sign of disconnecting soon, "he's a friendly fella, but he don't just go up to anyone." Florence's eyes softened as she rubbed her free hand on top of Meatball's soft little head and glanced to Benny again.

"Dogs are probably some of the best creatures to ever walk to Earth," she said with a smile, "Sometimes they know us better than ourselves. I like to think sometimes they're protecting us, or….just there to guide us, be with us, give us someone who unconditionally loves you, ya know?" Benny's smile on his face was something that engrained itself quickly in her mind and he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," he said softly, "I like to think of it that way, too." For a moment, as Ella Fitzgerald sang her part, the gentle thrum of a bass and brass to follow, they watched each other as if taking in the very quiet moment they had there between one another that night. An unexpected chance for Florence to get out of her normal gear and into a dress, to have her hands free of grease for the first time in a while, and to be looked at by a man with the softest eyes she'd ever seen - with a dog named after an Italian meatball no less.

"I'd ask for your hand in a dance, but I'm afraid that French 75 is calling your name and Meatball would take offense," Benny said, his eyes seemingly nervously flitting to the drink that had appeared at her side before meeting hers again, "and I know you're one of the women who works with the ground crews….I'd hate to steal an evening away from a good drink." Florence watched him.

"You know I work with the ground crews?" Benny nodded with a smile.

"You hang around Lemmons a lot," Benny offered, "and you work hard. We all see that. Buck does, too. Mentioned you were the best of the best. Didn't want to be too forward when I heard you tell the bartender your name." Florence watched him, as he gave Meatball a smile and a pet on the head before he looked to her again.

"Ma didn't raise me to be impolite either," he said with a nod, "and you've earned an off night like this and a drink like that."

"And a night getting to talk to a man like you." Florence said quietly to him, her heart starting to pound as he watched her - no one ever really had mentioned her in the way he had, having noticed her before and even made the effort to talk to her like he had. Her palms felt sweaty, and her mouth felt dry. Benny watched her for a moment as she took a sip of her drink and then looked to him.

"I'd be more than happy to spend a night dancing with you," she whispered.

There was something unspoken behind her words - like the realization was still there, they just hadn't mentioned in. In war, moments like this were precious and sheltered and held close in the palms of their hands. A night with someone with tender eyes was worth more than enough money in the world to her, especially in wartime. The thought saddened her heart and her mind as she stared at Benny DeMarco, with that million-dollar smile and those eyes. Benny let out a shaky breath that he looked like he'd been holding in and reached forward to take her hands in his and leaned forward the slightest bit so the only things she could see and hear were him and his voice.

"With you? I'd consider it a privilege." he whispered and then pressed a soft kiss to her hands clasped in his and then gently pulled her towards the open dance floor where only a few couples were left and had made it this late in the night. Wrapped in each other's warm embraces there in the middle of the floor, Billie Holiday's voice singing in the eves, and the gentle sway of their bodies so intimately close there, Florence let herself dance softly that night with Benny DeMarco.

Florence let herself live a bit for once.

[basilone]

A dose of Darlene to combat the winter blues, a dose of Benny/Darlene because softness is what I got right now, and a dose of Lottie being Lottie because that's how this gets kickstarted at all. I don't think any warnings really apply, beyond some innuendo, but I hope this is something that heals.

to be moved

Lottie loves out loud. Her affection drapes arms over shoulders, rests lips against cheeks and hair and brow, and holds hands no matter the occasion. She flirts without meaning to one minute and flirts with full intent the next, somehow managing to make neither version sound too serious. If you fall for the idea of it being serious anyway – and people often do, hook-like-sinker for that cocky smile and can-do attitude – she’ll let you down as easy as she can, which is to say that she’ll enforce a no with her fist if she has to and adopts a disappointed I thought we was havin’ fun tone if you can’t help but cry about it some.

She doesn’t often apologize. Darlene thinks it’s one of those things Lot just hasn’t been taught, same way she had to be told how to wash her clothes to keep ’em from shrinking. Same way she had to be told how much value really is in a dollar – you can only spend it one time, Lot, goddamn – because she was out here buying presents with cash that would’ve gotten them groceries for three months. That had taken a few solid weeks, looking back, and Darlene doesn’t doubt it’d take even more weeks for Lot to learn how to say sorry proper. Not that kinda glib sorry ’bout the mess she’s perfected – something that flies all right with her fellow pilots – but the kind of sorry that comes outta her toes and tells you she won’t do it again.

That poor ol’ sucker, she almost says out loud, eyeing Lottie’s easy smile at one of the English fellas. They’re on second drink only because Lot palmed her ginger ale off to Major Cleven and managed to make it look like an accident, which is already more than she woulda gotten away with back home. It’s like England’s not really prepared for the eventuality of a Lottie, who descends upon pubs with the air of a tropical storm battering against politely-offered umbrellas. Jesus Christ, Darlene wants to hiss, recognizing that casual flip of hair well enough, he’s already down, will ya stop kickin’ his teeth out?

She shakes her head. It’s one of those nights when she’s not my sweet girl for Lot, tucked away under the woman’s arm and cheek burning with all of Lottie’s kisses. It’s one of those nights she lost Lot’s hand the second the door swung open – it’s for the best, it’s okay, it’s what happens when you’re both girls and can’t sell the we’re just friends very well – and Darlene’s not sorry for it the longer she looks at what’s going on. Lot’s back is pressed against Major Cleven’s side, which Darlene’s sure she’s managed to excuse away as being stuck in a crowded space. Lot’s foot is on the other fella’s chair and her necklace glints up in the light, peeking out from underneath undone shirt buttons. Her smile’s unwavering, as is that little tilt to her head, and Darlene’s seen this work one too many times to not know how the rest of the night’s gonna go.

I don’t like the look o’ him, she’d still say, if she were close enough to Lot’s ear to be heard. He’ll be like that fella we brought home time before last – that one had wanted a picture of them kissing each other, as if that’s the kinda thing to stuff into one’s pocket – and ya know how much of a letdown that was. Darlene supposes maybe it’s different when she lets Lot go alone this time, though this fella don’t look like he knows the first thing about how to make Lot’s legs tremble at all. And Lot ain’t tricky about getting to that stage – though she says she is, but Darlene thinks that’s a special kind of balderdash she just says to make Darlene feel good about getting her there every time – but she’s gonna be catapulting off the walls of her bedroom in the mornin’ if she ain’t gonna get her fill tonight all the same.

Darlene’s just going to clean it all up when that happens. Won’t need to show the English fella to the door, because Lot’ll have gotten rid o’ him just fine after seven minutes of fumbled trying. Won’t need to hold Lot’s hair while she pukes, because she just pawned off her next glass of liquor to a passing Curt Biddick and knocked her water back instead. Will need to tut at Lot about poor choices, sure, and will need to kiss her until Lot sighs and says she’s really done trying this time. Will need to grin and tease and bear it a little longer until Lot forgets her jagged edges long enough to become soft and pliant and needy in a way Darlene understands better than she gets this broken funhouse mirror image Lot keeps trying to pull up. Will need to poke at this wound until it smarts worse than it does now, because she’s just never going to be enough for Lot but there are still moments when she undoubtedly is Lot’s entire universe.

“Hey,” she hears, then, and it sounds like this hey is just meant for her because of how soft-voiced it is, “mind if I sit?”

Darlene makes the mistake of glancing up. Is met with the full force of Bernard DeMarco’s tentative smile directed solely at her. His dark eyes are crinkled up in a way that makes his gaze look even friendlier. It’s warm in this corner of the pub – heat flushes her cheeks now that she feels it unfurl in her chest – and yet he looks unbothered by it enough. It probably helps that he’s not in a bulky flight jacket the way half these fellas still are, but in that leather one she’s always liked the look of far better.

“Uhh,” she says, which isn’t the smartest way to start a conversation. Blinks at him in an effort to gather her thoughts, which seem to have wandered off at the sight of his slightly undone collar. “S-Sure,” she nods, then, patting the empty chair beside her, “yours if ya want it.”

She doesn’t fully know why he wants that. Most of his crew’s keeping entertained near the game o’ darts – ain’t that where she saw him last, too? – and the rest of the folks they know are mostly stuck in that crowd around Major Cleven and Lottie. She’s already said bye to George, who begged off with a headache after first round, and the rest of the girls she came in with are either fanned out across the pub or gone back to base. It’s just her in this corner now, and she’s not really the kind of easy company a pilot like him might want.

“Thanks,” he says, and she flushes a little crimson when he settles down beside her with a sigh that sounds like it came deep outta his belly. “Had to get out of that game before Dickie and Curt took me to the cleaners”– he nods at the darts, where Biddick’s crowing victory –“and Buck’s not great company right now.”

“Major Cleven looks all right ta me?” she questions, glancing over at the man just to be sure. He certainly don’t look different – hand curled around his glass, toothpick between his lips – but she doesn’t really know him all too well. “I trust your judgment, though,” she amends, turning her attention back to the man who’d requested she call him Benny. “If ya say he ain’t, then he ain’t. You fly with him, not me.”

“He’s not all right while Ace keeps flirting with the guy he is most annoyed with,” snorts Benny, and it takes all of five seconds for Darlene to realize he means Lottie and the English fella with that comment. He glances to the side a moment before looking back at her. “I could almost swear she does it on purpose just because Buck doesn’t like him.”

“Yeah, that’s her all right,” agrees Darlene, because it does sound like a Lottie sort of thing to do to her new commanding officer. “And she knows all them English fellas because they been working with our fighter squads more than with y’all,” she elaborates, “so she don’t really think twice about flirting with them any. They know she used to fly them fighters before she went and got herself reassigned, so…” She shrugs. Smiles at Benny. “It’s just some itch that needs scratchin’, for her, and ya can tell the Major that if ya like.”

He makes no move to vacate his seat. If anything, he sinks a little deeper into it – his knee knocking against hers, his jacket brushing her arm – and seems to settle down beside her. He makes a little harrumphing sort of noise in the back of his throat, as though the suggestion of telling Major Cleven that little tidbit about Lot is one he’s wholly discarding for reasons unknown to her.

“Don’t you think this place is a little… weird?”

Darlene blinks at the question, which he managed to make sound earnest somehow. “What d’ya mean, sir?”

“Please,” he says, brow furrowed, barely containing his wince, “I’m just Benny. Not a sir.”

“All right then, just Benny,” she laughs, tucking her leg under her knee and getting comfortable in her own seat, “why do you think this place is weird?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs in a way that tells her he might yet know, but isn’t sure on how to say it. “It’s such a… Back home there’d be more dancing. And singing.” He lights one of his smokes. Offers her one, which she declines with a smile. “There’d be some games, sure,” he admits, “but all these tables… My cousins would make quick work of these, putting them up on the side and the chairs on top of that. Clear some space.”

“Space for dancin’?”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, already gesturing at which tables they’d clear, already conjuring a hazy vision of it for her mind’s eye. Traces of smoke linger in the air, almost forming dancing shapes of their own where his fingertips were before. “The proper kind, too.”

Darlene can’t help but rest her chin atop her hand at that. “Now what in the world d’ya know about proper kind o’ dancin’, Bernard DeMarco?” she asks, smiling at him like she can definitely keep that secret if he decides to share. “And don’t you ma’am me now, ya hear? I won’t have that when ya got me callin’ ya Benny.”

He raises his hands in clear surrender. “Can’t tell you what I know,” he says, even though he’s leaning forward like he wants to share. “Would need to show you, and this place is not ready for that.” His grin’s as quick as his wink. “It’d be as proper as we make it, Darlene.”

Darlene. He remembers her name without being prompted to. Doesn’t try to make it sound like Arlene or Charlene the way folks do back home when they can’t quite recall the name her mama gave her. He says it the way it ought to be, except somehow he makes her name sound soft and wanting and…

“I ain’t that proper,” she warns him, grinning back now that she’s made a decision. “But there ain’t a reason why ya can’t show me, either. We got outside, don’t we?” She nods at the door. “Ain’t anybody in here that’ll miss us, not with your fellas caught up in their game and Lot caught up in her stupid flirting.”

And it is stupid, now that she really thinks about it some. It’s something so perfectly Lottie, sure enough, because a girl who’s rich enough to make bad decisions with her money sure ain’t gonna fare better making decisions about her life any. She knows all the reasons why Lot goes and plays that kinda game over and over again, but Darlene’s told her time and again that it don’t mean she’s gotta play it with Lot any. It’s certainly not something worth sticking around and ruining her own night for.

“C’mon, Ben,” she coaxes, rising to her feet and offering her hand to him. “Let’s make this place less weird.”

She doesn’t look back once his hand wraps around hers. Does give herself a little shake – that was not a jolt of electricity, no sir – when he holds on to it for longer than she’d thought he would. When his fingers actually tangle with hers, squeezing down just a little, and he guides her to the door as though she’s his actual date for the night. If you was Orpheus, she suddenly thinks, I would be doomed to the underworld because you’d glance at me every time, you’d not walk all that damn way without wanting to see me following you there.

Darlene doesn’t mention that, though the thought makes her draw even closer to him once they pass through the door. She’s always loved the story – of course you’d look back to see your beloved, of course you’d want to – and thinking of that makes her think of how tonight would look to an artist. She’d paint herself in shadows, even her red hair barely catching glints of the light. She’d paint him in warmth – the pub had made him look tanned and full of sunshine – just to translate the feeling she gets from his hand tangled with hers. She’d draw them separate first, then winding together in a flurry not unlike the one she’s battling on the inside now.

He releases her hand just to turn around and bow to her, which is the most ridiculous thing of all.

“Ben–”

“Darling Darlene,” he interrupts, smiling at her like he already knows all the next steps, “will you please do me the honor”– and he makes it sound so sincere, so believable, that she stands and simply gawks at him –“of giving me your hand so I can lead you in our dance?”

He calls me darlin’. Means it, too, because he ain’t the type to say something he don’t mean. “I dunno about honor,” she hedges, fingertips already brushing his knuckles, “but I’d love to dance with ya, beautiful Benny.”

His laugh is instantaneous. Warmer than any paint or pencil of hers could ever hope to catch. “Beautiful, huh?”

“Gotta say it one time,” she admits, “in the hopes that you don’t get too big for that plane o’ yours hearing summat like that.” She grins when he ducks his head. “Seems I just got you shy instead, huh,” she teases, though his hand fastens around hers and his arm wraps around her waist in a clear negation of such a statement. “I did ask George who that handsome fella with the dog was when y’all landed, ya know”– and she’s done pretending she never did, done holding back on that –“so it ain’t like I changed my mind between now and then.”

“God, you just…” He laughs again, warm and full and buzzy against her ear. There’s a gentle sway to his steps that she follows without thinking, leading her further away from the pub’s door. “You’re making things hard, Darlene, you know that?”

“I’ve been told I do,” she grins, unapologetic, and lets out a giggle when he casts his eyes to heaven. “Come on now, ya knew I was gon’ say that. There’s a reason why folks at home call me tacky and shameless.”

His hand tightens around her waist. “Folks at home are wrong about you.” He says it with such quiet conviction that it almost makes her grow too still, too incapable of following his next motions. “And jokes that are also true aside,” he murmurs, “what I meant was that you’re making it hard for me not to fall in love with you.”

“You…”

“Sorry,” he says, guiding her into a spin that takes her out of his arms. “I wasn’t gonna say that part.”

“But ya did,” she says, ignoring his outstretched hand and making up a few swaying steps of her own. If she thinks about anything other than the next move, she knows there’s not gonna be anything left to hold back. “So now we’re dancin’ with that, too.”

“We don’t have to, it’s just some… something I feel. It doesn’t have to…” His hands find her waist. A small curl’s escaped his perfectly coiffed hair. “It doesn’t have to matter.”

She reaches up for that curl before she can stop herself. Brushes it back, then rests her hand against his cheek. She doesn’t think anyone’s claimed to be in love with her before. Lot’s come closest – love ya, Dar – but even that didn’t quite feel like… Didn’t feel like Benny. Didn’t feel as earnest, as honest, as open.

It does matter.

So she kisses him. Winds her arms around his neck and pulls him so close that they simply fit without trying. Meets his mouth with hers because that’s what she’s been wanting to figure out for the better part of a few weeks now. Lets him muffle a sound of surprise in her kiss, lets him press back and squeeze her to him so tight, lets his hand tangle in her curls that have already escaped their past confinement. They’re still swaying to music unheard – to Orpheus’ lyre, or their own hearts – and he makes no effort to spin her out of his arms again.

He winds her closer to him, kissing back, kissing her like she thinks people kiss in those love stories that were never hers. Kissing her with so much care that she definitely falters in their dance. He catches her missed steps with a smile against her lips, a stray touch of lips against her cheek, a murmured I got you that feels safer to her than any plane’s landing.

Darlene doesn’t love out loud. Doesn’t think she knows how, not yet, not in this way she’s feeling right now, in that way that’s entirely too big for her. Thinks she’ll learn, sometime, when she follows his steps right, and memorizes him as he is now. Silhouetted against the horizon, with a smile just for her, holding her like she is something dear.

She thinks she’ll paint him in warmest colors, like the setting sun.

[sagesolsticewrites]

Pyaar Dosti Hai

Benny DeMarco x Ruthvika Patel (OFC)

Ruthie Patel runs into a certain furry member of the 100th Bomb Group— and his owner— on her way to celebrate her friend Juliet’s engagement to John Brady. The gang quickly welcomes her into their found family, but there could be something more between her and Benny DeMarco— if either of them ever finds the courage to make a move.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: implied racism (being a brown girl in 1940s New York… oof), mentions of strict parenting, I think that’s it? Please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: the final member of the Book Club Girlies is here! Writing our little girl gang with @winniemaywebber and @ginabaker1666 has been so much fun, I can’t wait for y’all to see more of our darling girls! And a huge thank you to @hephaestn for the gorgeous moodboard!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

Ruthvika Patel— Ruthie to her friends (and to, well… pretty much everyone outside of her small immigrant community)— rummages in her purse for the scrap of paper she had been referencing the whole way to the city. It was the address of the restaurant her old school friend had given her, where she was hosting a small get together with her and her fiancé’s friends, and had insisted that Ruthie come along.

“Are you sure, Jules?” She’d said over the phone, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of her mother— Ranjan Patel would be livid if she knew her daughter was using their hotel phone for a personal call, “I won’t really know any of them, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Absolutely, Ruthie!” Her friend’s bubbly voice insisted, “You’re one of my best friends, I want you to meet Johnny. And it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. Please? Jean and Jo will be there, we had so much fun with them last time, didn’t we?”

Ruthie could practically hear her batting her lashes pleadingly, and her resolve crumbled.

“Alright,” she relented, reaching for a pen and paper, “What’s the address?”

The Patels ran a hotel just on the outskirts of New York City, but that didn’t mean Ruthie was in any way prepared for being in the heart of it. Glancing from the street to the paper in her hands, and doing her best to ignore the stares of passers by— her mother always said she was lucky to get her father’s lighter tea-with-milk complexion, rather than her mother’s darker tones, but that didn’t mean she didn’t stand out in a crowd— she tries to get her bearings, but her efforts prove futile. She was utterly lost.

She doesn’t have long to mourn her circumstances, though, before a large mass of fur barrels into her legs.

Benny DeMarco grins as he strolls through the streets of New York, Meatball trotting happily by his side.

“You excited to see everyone, buddy?” He asks, the husky barking happily in response before returning to sniffing the air in earnest.

He’d been glad to get the invitation from Brady & his fiancée for a get together to celebrate their engagement, and he was looking forward to seeing his friends again. It had been a while since he’d seen anyone from Thorpe Abbotts, but last he’d heard, Olive and Dougie were still together and very happy, and he was happy for them.

Meatball tugs at the leash, straining to chase after all these new sights and smells.

“Hang on, buddy, we’ve still got a few blocks to go—“

Meatball pays no heed to Benny’s words, and soon the leash is tugged out of his grip entirely.

“Meatball! Get back here!”

He weaves through the crowded streets, chasing after the husky who’s getting farther and farther away. Eventually he loses sight of him completely and has no choice but to just keep running, hoping that his dog runs out of energy before he does.

Benny slows, gasping, as Meatball comes into view, sniffing eagerly at the feet of what Benny can’t help but notice is a very pretty girl.

“There you are, bud.”

“Oh!” The girl looks up from petting his dog with a sheepish smile, “Is he yours?”

“He is,” he laughs, noting her slight accent accompanying her rich brown skin and lush black waves, “Meatball’s first time in the city, he got a little excited.”

“Well, Meatball,” she grins, giving him one last pet before he returns to Benny’s side, “We have that in common. Is it yours as well? First time in the city, I mean.”

“Yes, sort of. I’m from Philly, but I’ve got a few friends who live here and I feel like I’ve been here already just from hearing them talk about it,” He laughs.

“Oh, I see,” the girl nods politely, seeming to wilt the tiniest bit before gathering herself, “Well, I hate to bother you, but…”

The girl seems to turn shy for a moment, fiddling with the scrap of paper in her hand, “Would you happen to know where to find—?” She says the name of the very restaurant he’s on his way to— “I’m a little lost.”

“Lucky for you,” he grins, “I’m on my way there now. I’d be happy to walk with you.”

“Thank you so much,” she says earnestly, falling into step beside him, “My friend’s waiting for me and I cannot be late.”

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“She’s having a small party to celebrate her engagement, and I promised I’d be here to meet her fiancé.”

It’s too much to be a coincidence.

“Your friend’s fiancé wouldn’t happen to be named John Brady…?”

“I— yes!” She blinks, surprised, “You know him?”

“I’m on my way to that same party,” he grins, “Brady and I served together. Bernard DeMarco,” he holds out his hand, “But everyone calls me Benny.”

She shakes his hand, “Ruthie Patel.”

“Ruthie?”

He tries not to sound too surprised, but a name like Ruthie doesn’t exactly match up with what he had imagined…

“Well, it’s actually Ruthvika, but Ruthie’s easier for everyone, so—”

“Ruthvika?” He tests out the syllables, hoping he isn’t butchering them too badly, “That’s very pretty. You really prefer Ruthie?”

She flushes, and he backtracks quickly, hoping he didn’t overstep. He just met this girl, what was he thinking?

“Not that Ruthie’s not very pretty too! It’s just… if I had a name like that I’d want everyone to use it.”

“It’s not exactly a matter of preference,” Ruthie says shyly, reaching up to fiddle with the thin gold necklace resting between her collarbones, “But most people don’t want to bother trying to pronounce something like Ruthvika, so I went by Ruthie in school, and it just… stuck. Helped me assimilate.”

“Well,” he says, “You deserve to have your name pronounced correctly. Especially one as pretty as yours, Ruthvika.”

She does her best to smother her grin at his attempt at her full name, helping him with the pronunciation as they approach their destination.

“Ah, we’re here,” Benny says, beaming at his last nearly-flawless attempt at her name.

“I never would’ve found my way here on my own,” Ruthie admits with a laugh, “Thank you very much, Benny.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” he shrugs, “It’s really Meatball we should be thanking, otherwise I never would’ve run into you. Good thing he has excellent taste,” He can’t help adding with a wink, if only to see that pretty rose flush cover her cheeks again. “Shall we?”

Ruthie follows her new friend and his dog into the restaurant, scanning the room until she spots her friend seated at a secluded table on the back patio, along with several other people.

There’s some whispering around the room, and she can feel eyes on her as she makes her way out the back, but she does her best to ignore it and plasters a smile on her face just in time for Jules to meet her gaze.

“Ruthie!” She all but squeals, standing to pull her into a hug, “I’m so glad you could make it, it’s been too long. You look wonderful!”

“It’s so good to see you, Jules,” she beams, squeezing her friend tight.

Juliet steps back, seemingly taking in her friend, before turning to the table and beckoning over the man in the chair next to the one she had just left.

“Johnny,” Juliet grins, green eyes sparkling as he moves to stand next to her, hand resting easily on her waist, “this is Ruthie, my friend from school. Ruthie, this is John, my fiancé.”

Ruthie could practically see the little thrill that went through her friend at that last word, and her smile widens.

“A pleasure to finally meet you,” John smiles, blue eyes crinkling as he reaches out for a handshake, “Jules here hasn’t stopped talking about how excited she was to see you.”

“She’s told me so much about you, it’s very nice to finally meet you as well.”

“Come on, let me introduce you to everyone!”

Jules guides her over to the other people sitting at the table, as Ruthie is reintroduced to Jean & Jo — their day at Coney Island and the sleepover at Jo & Jean’s apartment wasn’t an experience she was likely to forget anytime soon — and introduced in quick succession to Val DiRosano, Olive Lewis, and the men settled next to them: Harry Crosby, Rosie Rosenthal, Everett Blakely, and James Douglass (who insisted she call him Dougie, “everyone does”).

“How do you all kn—?”

Ruthie is in the middle of asking what their connection is to Jules when the relative quiet on the patio is broken by a chorus of “DEMARCO!” from the gentlemen in their group, a shout that has Ruthie nearly jumping out of her skin.

“Egan does that to me one time—” Benny grumbles good-naturedly as he pulls Brady in for a hug, reaching out for handshakes from Croz, Rosie, Blakely, and Douglass.

“A running joke from during the war,” Benny leans over to explain with a smile upon seeing the confused expression on Ruthie’s face as everyone settles into their seats.

“Ruthie, how do you know Benny?” Olive asks as she leans down to pet Meatball, calming the husky’s whines for attention.

“Oh! Well… I don’t, really? We just met—”

“Oh I’m sorry!” The Brit says hurriedly, “I just saw the two of you come in together, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, it’s fine!” Ruthie assures her quickly, “Completely understandable—”

“That troublemaker’s the reason we met,” Benny interjects, putting a stop to the cycle of nervous politeness as he nods to Meatball, “I guess he got a little excited being in the big city, because he bolted away from me on our way here. Ended up chasing him for I don’t even know how many blocks until I found him with Ruthie here.”

Ruthie misses the knowing smile playing on Olive’s lips as she continues the story.

“I was trying to find the restaurant and was… completely lost,” she admits with a slightly embarrassed smile, “But luckily Benny here offered to walk with me.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Olive grins, with a teasing smile directed at the man himself, “Well I’m glad you made it. Jules has told us nothing but wonderful things.”

“I was so excited she invited me,” Ruthie smiles, “My parents’ hotel has been so busy, I’ve hardly gotten a second to breathe. And I was looking forward to meeting all of you.” Her smile turns soft, one meant just for Olive, “I know your letters to her were a great comfort, and I wanted to thank you for that.”

“I’m glad,” Olive says, “I was grateful to her as well for indulging me with that first letter, and now—” she gestures around the table at the girls, then towards the bar where the boys have migrated, “— what a friendship it’s turned into.”

“So Ruthie,” her attention is pulled towards Val, sitting across the table, “tell us about yourself! You said something about a hotel?” Val asks, innocent curiosity on her face.

“Oh, yes!”

She can’t help falling into her please-help-my-parents-stay-in-business persona, the one she usually reserves for her time at the hotel.

“My parents own a little hotel just outside the city— perfect for if you want a bit of quiet after a night out on the town or a day of sightseeing— and I’ve helped them run it since I was a little girl.”

She can’t quite hide a smile at the fond memories of helping carry meals up to rooms, helping change sheets between guests— her parents were right in assuming that her youth would earn her a few extra sympathy tips, and every little bit helped— and as she got older, she progressed to helping check guests in and out on top of all that, making sure everything was running smoothly for her aging parents.

At the rest of the girls’ insistence, she tells story after story of growing up in the hotel, Juliet chiming in with a story or two of her own from their school days— “That scratch behind the front desk is still there, by the way.” “No!”— and soon they’re all laughing and chatting like old friends, occasionally bending down to indulge Meatball with a pet when his whining becomes insistent enough.

Ruthie finds herself relaxing as the chatter envelops her, a smile stretching wide across her face and growing each time her eyes are drawn towards Benny leaning up against the bar with the boys. Her gaze repeatedly flicks back to the table before he can catch her staring, though apparently she hasn't been as subtle as she thinks when Olive leans in to whisper, “he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Heat rushes to Ruthie’s cheeks.

“Oh— your fiancé?” Her eyes flick to the man next to Benny as she attempts to recall his name from the fairly rushed introductions, “Dougie, right? Yes, he is very handsome, you did well,” she makes an attempt at teasing her new friend.

“Oh, I know,” Olive grins, then clarifies, “But I was talking about Benny! I noticed you looking over at him and, well… you should know he’s an absolutely wonderful fella, such a gentleman. I could put in a good word for you if you want,” she adds with a friendly wink.

“I— no, no, that’s not necessary,” Ruthie scrambles to say as her cheeks heat even more, “I wasn’t— he was just nice to me,and I appreciated it, that’s all. But… you seem to know him very well,” she nods with a laugh to Meatball sitting comfortably at Olive’s feet, his head resting in her lap, “if his dog is any indication. Did you two meet during the war?”

“We did,” Olive smiles, “I was with the Red Cross on base, he was one of the first people I met there…”

As Olive tells the tale of her and Benny— strictly a friendship and nothing more, she assures her new friend— Ruthie notes out of the corner of her eye Val heading over to the bar.

“Benny,” Val nods in greeting as she squeezes between the boys to reach the bar, ordering another French 75.

“Val,” he smiles, “Sorry for stealing your man away.”

“I’ll live,” she says, catching Ev’s eye from where he’s chatting with Dougie to shoot him a wink and a red-lipped smile before turning her attention back to DeMarco and switching seamlessly into Italian.

“Ask her out, Benny.”

Benny blinks, quickly translating in his head before replying in the same.

“Ask who out? Olive’s already engaged, Val.”

“Don’t make me smack you, just because the war is over DeMarco…”

An arched eyebrow is all he needs to know that his glances over at Ruthvika weren’t as subtle as he’d hoped.

“…how did you know?”

“Um, because you’ve been staring at her all evening and I can tell you’ve barely listened to a word Croz has said.”

“To be fair, Croz is going on about some jazz record and only Rosie is listening at this point.” Benny laughs, glancing over to where Croz is conversing animatedly with a captivated Rosie Rosenthal, John Brady only half-listening next to them with his eyes fixed on his fiancée.

“Then, bring Ruthie a drink and maybe talk to her?” She flicks her gaze over to Ruthie, prompting Benny to glance over at her too, and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face seeing her laughing with Olive.

“See?” Val says, gesturing to him, her eyes almost accusatory, “You’ve been looking at her like that all night and you expect me not to notice. Talk to her, Benny.”

With a final friendly nudge, she wanders back to the table, glass in hand.

Ruthie nods politely as Olive’s story winds down, her attention now captured by Val and Benny together at the bar, leaning into each other as they speak a language that, as far as she can tell, is definitely not English.

“And… I don’t mean to pry, but are Val and Benny close as well?”

“Hm?” Olive follows her gaze to the bar, “Oh, in a way.”

On Ruthie’s other side, Jean Crosby turns from her conversation with Jo, frowning slightly as she registers Val’s empty chair and her current place at the bar.

“Oh darn, I was hoping I could ask Val for a refill while she was over there,” she says, ice tinkling in her now empty rum and cola, brow furrowing as their voices reach the table, “Are she and Benny doing that thing where they speak Italian so none of us can understand them again? It’s a beautiful language, I’ll grant her that, but I can’t handle anything other than English after a few of these.”

At Ruthie’s somehow even more confused expression, Olive jumps in to explain.

“Val and Benny became good friends when we were on base, both being Italian and whatnot. I guess he was like a bit of home for her, giving her a chance to stretch her legs with her Italian, and I’ll admit it was very fun trying to figure out what they were saying at times,” the Brit adds with a laugh.

“Oh yes honey, they’re just friends, never been anything more” Jean adds from her place on Ruthie’s right with a knowing smile, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We're all just one big happy family, aren’t we?”

A flush of embarrassment races through Ruthie at the knowledge that her attraction really wasn’t as subtle as she’d thought, but her smile grows at the tender way Jean refers to the group as a family. Given her own experience with family was largely with strict uncles and aunties, even stricter parents, and cousins competing ruthlessly for praise from the adults, the idea of a friendship of the kind she had seen Jo, Jean, and Juliet share becoming a kind of chosen family sent a warm thrill of happiness radiating from her heart.

“Family,” she murmurs, “That sounds wonderful.”

Jean lays a gentle hand on Ruthie’s arm, kind eyes sparkling, “And you’re one of us now, Vika sweetheart. Family whether you like it or not.”

Ruthie blinks back sudden tears at the use of the name she’d told the girls she preferred at their sleepover all those months ago. The young cousins who used to call her that had switched to Ruthie when they started school, along with using their own Americanized names at home, and it was so nice to hear even just a part of her true name from someone other than her mother.

Jean’s words echoed through Ruthie’s head. Family. One of us.

She could get used to that.

“Oh dear… I’m sorry, honey, did I say something wrong?” Jean fusses, seeing Ruthie’s watery eyes.

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assures her, brushing away her tears, “I just… you’re all so nice,” she laughs, unsure of how else to explain the overwhelming joy and disbelief welling up inside her.

“Just wait ‘til you see Val before she’s had her coffee, chicken,” Olive says lightheartedly, bumping Ruthie’s shoulder playfully, “You won’t think we’re all so nice then.”

“Vika’s seen what Jo and I are like in the mornings, Ol,” Jean replies with a laugh, “I’d say she’s ready for anything after that.”

“I think your infamous martinis had more of a hand in that than the early morning, Jean.”

Feeling bold, Ruthie takes a shot of her own at her new friend, much to the table’s delight.

“There she is!”

“Alright, Ruthie!”

“Oh goodness, what did I miss?” Val grins as she returns to the table, a fresh French 75 clutched in her perfectly manicured hand.

“Just Vika teasing me about my martinis,” Jean says, flashing Ruthie a grin.

“Vika?” Val looks momentarily confused.

“A nickname from when I was younger,” Ruthie explains, “But of course Ruthie’s fine as well if that’s easier—”

“Nonsense!” Val waves away Ruthie’s anxious rambling, “Vika’s a gorgeous name, I love it.”

Ruthie’s shoulders relax at Val’s smile and the compliment.

“So, we were talking martinis?” Val says, moving the conversation along, “Is now a good time to bring up the lasagna story?”

A chorus of good-natured groans tells Ruthie that this isn’t the first time Val has brought this up, and whatever it is, it’s sure to be amusing.

Val leans in with a grin, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“So, the first time Jean made me one of her martinis…”

The group, some a little tipsier than others, decide to call it a night as the bright sunshine warming the patio begins to fade to the red-gold of sunset. With plenty of hugs and several exchanges of addresses with Ruthie, most of the couples depart, leaving Benny and Ruthie with John and Juliet at the table, Meatball curled contently at their feet.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride, Ruthie?” Juliet asks, “I don’t love the idea of you taking the subway alone.”

“I'll be fine, Jules, I promise,” she assures her friend, tamping down the anxiety spiking in her chest at the thought of being alone on a dark subway platform. She made it here on her own, she can surely make it back.

“I’d be happy to go with you,” Benny says, leaning down to pet a whining Meatball, “I know this guy could use some adventure before being cooped up on a train tomorrow.”

“Well…” she pretends to think about it for a moment, then nods. “If it’s for Meatball’s sake, then yes,” adding sincerely, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Benny grins.

They say their goodbyes and depart, Ruthie glancing back to catch a glimpse of John pulling her friend into a tender kiss.

It takes them a moment to get their bearings in the fading light, but with Benny’s help, Ruthie manages to guide them onto the subway for the hour-long commute to her little town of Lynbrook.

“So,” Benny says from his place beside her as he pets a snoozing Meatball, the excitement of the day having worn out the playful husky, “Have you… always lived here?”

Ruthie’s heard this question enough times to know what he’s really asking.

“I was born here, yes. In Harlem, actually, not too long after my parents came over from India,” A smile crosses her face at the fuzzy memories of playing with the neighbor children in their tiny, run-down apartment building, of visiting her uncle’s jewelry shop and begging to try on some of the cheap costume jewelry he sold alongside the much more valuable items.

She continues, “My parents moved out to Lynbrook to start their hotel when I was five, and we’ve been there ever since.”

“You like it there, don’t you.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but she answered anyway.

“I do,” she smiles, “Don’t tell Jo and Jean this, but I like being a little removed from the hustle and bustle of the big city, getting to choose when to be part of all the excitement instead of having it all around me all the time. And my parents love the hotel— love having something they own, love being their own bosses, so to speak. And I love getting to help them live their dream.”

A warmth blooms in Benny’s chest seeing the tender look in Ruthie’s eyes when she talks about her parents. It’s clear to him how much she cares about her family, how close she is to them, and he feels extremely lucky to see that softness in her come to the surface.

A question floats to the front of his mind that… well, he’s not sure if it’s too personal, but he’s had a few drinks and his filter isn’t quite where it should be tonight.

“Do your parents call you Ruthie too?”

“Sometimes,” Ruthie replies, seemingly unfazed by the way Benny blurted out his question, “They usually stick to Ruthvika, though. My little cousins used to call me Vika, but when they started school they switched to their own Americanized names and started calling me Ruthie.”

“Vika…” Benny hums, testing the pronunciation, “I think I heard some of the girls calling you that tonight. Is that a favorite nickname of yours?”

“I don’t really have a favorite,” Ruthie lies. Ever agreeable, ever flexible Ruthie. Her parents had trained her to keep most of her opinions to herself, especially with men, to be seen and not heard, and that training was coming in handy now.

Benny sees right through it.

“Are you sure?” He asks sincerely, “It’s your name, you can have a preference.”

His warm brown eyes meet her own, fingers brushing ever so slightly in the space between them.

The courage she’d managed to reach for during her conversations with the girls seems a bit farther away now, but she manages to summon a scrap of it to say, “I do love being called Vika.”

She meets Benny’s gaze with a small smile, but can’t help adding: “But I’m also fine with Ruthie— it’s easier for people to pronounce.”

The corner of Benny’s mouth quirks up into a smile.

“We’ll work on that. Vika’s a very pretty name.”

He resists adding for a very pretty girl. Now isn’t the time to be trying out lines, no matter how true the sentiment is.

Ruthie— Vika— ducks her chin to hide her smile, changing the subject quickly.

“Has Meatball always been yours?” She asks, smiling down at the sleeping husky at her feet.

“Feels like it,” Benny grins, “Won him at craps during the war.”

His smile grows at Ruthie’s raised eyebrows, and he continues.

“We stopped in Greenland on our way over to refuel, I ended up taking this troublemaker with me to base on our way out. Sorta became our official mascot.”

“You didn’t— he didn’t come up in the plane with you, did he?”

“Only on that first flight to base,” he replies, wanting to soothe away the slight hint of alarm in her voice, “He stayed with Olive and Val and the rest of the Clubmobile girls when I went up. Got a thousand complaints about fur in the donuts, but come on, imagine staying mad at a sweet boy like him.”

Vika laughs, “He does have a way of winning people over.”

Their banter continues for the rest of the ride, so engrossed in each other that the time speeds by and the pair have to scramble to make it off the train at Ruthie’s stop. They hail a taxi to get to the hotel, at which point Benny asks:

“There wouldn’t happen to be any available rooms at your parent’s hotel tonight, would there?”

“I… believe there are. Why?”

Benny gestures to the suitcase he’s been carrying all day, the one Ruthie had wholly forgotten about, “My train doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, and I don’t exactly plan on sleeping under the stars tonight. Not that I have anything against that, but,” he shrugs, “what can I say? I like my creature comforts. This will be much more convenient than going back and trying to find someplace to stay in the city, and besides,” he flashes Vika a teasing grin, “I’ve gotta see what all the fuss is about.”

The taxi pulls up to a modest two-story hotel, the words Forest Inn lettered in vibrant red above the doorway. Ruthie finds herself suddenly nervous as they pay the fare— or rather, Benny does, despite Ruthie’s protests— and exit the car, scanning over Benny’s face as subtly as she can as he takes in the building.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she rambles as she leads Benny and Meatball to the front doors, “But my parents have put so much work into it and, well… it’s home.”

The group steps into a small lobby, and something in Ruthie relaxes at the familiarity of the polished wood floors, rich burgundy wallpaper, the lamps along the walls washing everything in a golden glow, the soft red carpet leading to the dark wood front desk where—

“Mammi?”

Standing at the front desk, Ranjan Patel looks up from the ledger she’s writing in, a tired smile crossing her face when she sees her daughter.

“Welcome home, beta. Did you have a good time with Juliet? How is she? Is her fiancé nice?”

“It was fine, she’s good, I—“ Ruthie blinks, “Mammi, I thought Pravi Auntie was going to take over for you at 6–“

Mrs. Patel waves away her daughter’s concern, “One of her little ones took ill, I told her to look after her daughter. I don’t mind staying here.”

Ruthie lets out an exasperated sigh, but it’s clear her annoyance stems from concern for her mother.

“You were up at the crack of dawn today, Mammi, you need rest,” She steps behind the desk to usher her mother out of the way, “Please? I’ll take over until Ronny Uncle comes in for the night shift.”

Ruthie’s mother sighs, relenting, then straightens when her gaze catches Benny standing in the middle of the room.

“Alright, beta, just let me get this gentleman checked in—”

“No, Mammi, I’ve got it,” Ruthie says hurriedly, waving Benny over, “This is one of Juliet’s friends, he was kind enough to give me an escort home and needed a place to stay before he leaves town tomorrow. I told him I could get it all taken care of. Benny, this is my mother.” She introduces anxiously.

“Bernard DeMarco, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Benny greets with a beaming smile, “Your daughter’s told me nothing but wonderful things about your hotel.”

“Very nice to meet you, sir,” Mrs. Patel says with a tight smile, glancing with a slight frown down at Meatball, before putting on her customer service mask once more, “I hope you enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Introductions finished, she turns back to Ruthie, “Ronny Uncle should be here at 10, Ruthvika, but I can send over your father if you want him with you.”

“I’ll be fine, Mammi,” she waves her away gently, “Good night.”

“Shubh ratri, beta.”

With that, her mother slips out the side door towards their apartment in the building next door.

“Sorry about that,” Vika says with an embarrassed laugh, “She’s always working too hard.”

“No, I understand,” Benny says with a soft smile, “Mothers never think they’re doing enough, even when they’re going above and beyond.”

A quiet moment passed between them, interrupted by a whine from Meatball— the husky’s apparently eager to get to bed.

“Oh, your room!” Ruthie starts, “Sorry about that…” She reaches for a key with one hand as she begins filling out paperwork with the other.

“You’ll be in room 213,” she beams, turning the paper towards him for him to sign as she holds out the key.

Benny’s brow furrows as he notes the price stated on the paper— it’s much lower than the rate they have posted on the signage.

“Hang on, uh— Vika, I’m not much of a math whiz, but this seems—”

“Consider it a friends and family discount,” she says, waving away his concern, and the look in her eyes brooks no room for argument.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely once she’s noted it in the ledger, concern sparking in his mind as he notes the darkness outside and shy, sweet Vika manning the desk. “You’ll be alright out here until your uncle comes?” He asks, recalling her conversation with her mother.

“My uncle?” Her brow furrows, then her expression clears as she understands, “Oh, Ronny isn’t really my uncle, he’s my neighbor,” she explains with a laugh, “It’s just a thing Indian people do, showing respect to our elders. We’re raised to refer to elders, even ones not related to us, as Uncle or Auntie as a sign of respect. But anyway,” she ducks her head down to hide her embarrassment— she must be more tired than she thought to be rambling like that— “Yes, I’ll be fine, Benny. Have a good night.”

“You too, Ruthvika.”

A wide smile stretches across her face as Benny leads Meatball towards the stairs.

His pronunciation of her name had been almost perfect.

[luminouslywriting]

Is It Over Now—MOTA Fic/SAS: Rogue Heroes Crossover teaser

Listen 🤷🏻‍♀️ sometimes Bernard DeMarco’s new therapist/maybe girlfriend (if they can get over themselves) is actually a former member of the SAS and MAYBE, just MAYBE, she’s an icon and just trying to adjust to the world post-war.

[trashbag-baby666]

Home is Where the Heart is-Curt/Ken

What's Waited Till Tomorrow Starts Tonight au

summary: John and Curt come face to face with Ken's ex

wc: 702

c/w: Curt hitting people with his crutches, implied domestic abuse.

mota masterlist!

series masterlist! | ao3 link

John looked at the text Gale sent and looked back up at the oakwood door with the number plate 310 B on the door. 

He pocketed his phone and wrapped his knuckles against it. He hoped Dominic wasn’t home so they could just take Ken’s spare key and get his stuff and leave. Benny stood next to John, they waited a few moments and he knocked again, a little harder this time.

 “Jesus Christ.” They heard a gruff voice from the other side of the door. John took a deep breath as he mentally prepared himself to face him. Luckily, Sawyer was still helping Curt up the stairs. Damn building didn’t have an elevator and Curt demanded he go and help anyway.

“What?” The voice sounded as the door opened revealing a guy who was a few inches shorter than John with messy longer, brown hair. Not like Gales though, his was distasteful. 

“Are you Dominic Harring?” 

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

 “Some friends of Ken.” John nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. 

The man on the other side of the doorframe rolled his eyes practically into the back of his head letting out a huff that turned into some kind of sarcastic laugh.

 John wrinkled his nose at the ick practically oozing off of this man. Not to mention, the strong smell of cigarettes radiating from the apartment. 

From what he could see, just from the doorway. This doesn’t look like a place Ken would live.

 He always kept his things very nice and tidy and cleaned for fun. Dominic went to close the door in their faces but Curt stuck his crutch between the door and the trim blocking it from closing. 

“We don’t want any trouble, we just came here to get his stuff.” Curt cleared his throat shouldering the door the rest of the way open.

“And how do you reckon you’re gonna do that, Tiny Tim?” Dom scoffed but John was sure he was eating his words as soon as they left his mouth.

 Curt shoved one of his crutches into Sawyer's arms and delivered the all too painful blow of a Curtis Biddick punch right to his face. He sent Dom right onto the Dirty carpet, blood instantly beginning to gush from his nose. Curt took back his crutch and stepped forward into the apartment. 

“Now are you gonna let us get his stuff, you fuckin’ pig?” Curt spat standing over him as he clutched his nose. 

“Fine.” He groaned through the pain. 

“Sawyer, why don’t you go help em’ get Kenny’s things?” Curt nodded to his younger brother, “I wanna have a few more words with this cuck.”

 Sawyer just nodded and followed John and Benny into the apartment. 

“You oughta be lucky I got my pals here with me, otherwise I would’ve dragged your sorry ass across the parking lot. I outta have your fuckin’ head for what you did to my boy.” Curt had to use everything in his power to not raise his voice. But to also not kick the ever loving shit out of him. He promised John on the way here he wouldn’t cause any trouble. 

Dom went to sit up but Curt was faster. He pushed the tip of his crutch to his chest, 

“Stay down, I ain’t finished with ya yet.” His words were full of venom and anger. He was practically boiling over himself in rage. “You better fuckin’ listen well ‘cause I ain’t repeatin’ myself. If you come within a hundred goddamn yards of Kenny, youse not going to get off the floor next time. By god help me if you ever try contacting him again I will fuckin’ kill you. You got that!?” 

“Yes, get off of me.” He grumbled trying to suppress his bleeding.

 The other three came back with just an arm full of stuff each. Saying they got what Ken asked for. 

“Might wanna have your carpets cleaned.” Curt growled, taking a cheap shot right at Dom's crotch with his crutch sending the man howling into a curled ball of himself.

 He reached over to the counter and grabbed an unopened bag of Doritos, shoving it into Sawyer's arms and leading the three of them out.

- - taglist: @austeenbootler @coastiewife465 @executethyself35 @slowsweetlove

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 6

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |-| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: After finally acknowledging the grief of losing her sister, Susie opens a door for her and DeMarco to grow closer

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

Sunlight blinded her the moment her eyelids peeled open, spilling forth through the gap in the curtains and bathing her in a bright, warm glow. Susie groaned, a headache thrumming behind her eyes, an unbearable dryness coating the inside of her throat. Tossing an arm over her face to shield herself from the sun, it took her a long moment to realise she didn't know where she was.

This registered with a sudden panic, a jolt of electricity shocking her awake as she pushed herself to sit up, thick, comfortable bedsheets rustling with each sharp movement. She wasn't in her hut - for a moment her mind even wondered if she'd somehow ended up home, back in Manchester, until she realised her mother had never been able to afford blankets as nice as these.

An indiscernible mass weighed down her feet, and with a gentle kick, Meatball let out a tired whimper, peeking his head up from beneath the opposite end of the duvet. Susie would have laughed had she not been so dumbfounded by her surroundings, the huge double bed and floral wallpaper utterly unfamiliar to her. Turning her head, she noticed a crumpled scrap of paper on the nightstand, and reached across to seize it, resting uncomfortably on one elbow.

Out on a mission. Called in sick on your behalf.

Meatball's been fed. Coffee downstairs.

See you later

Benny

She'd had to squint to read his handwriting, chicken scratch letters almost indecipherable in her freshly conscious state. It took her a second to recall who 'Benny' even was, the nickname so foreign to her. He'd scribbled a smiley face next to his name, and Susie felt the corner of her lips curl upwards, oddly comforted by the gesture.

Memories of the night before began to return to her. Everything since the call with Beatrice had been a blur the moment she'd awoken, but the longer she sat there, watching Meatball roll back and forth across the mattress, things seemed to return to clarity. She was in one of the rooms above the pub - the owner had been reluctant to admit them so late at night, but she faintly recalled DeMarco slipping the man some extra cash. He'd been there when she'd fallen asleep. She'd woken up earlier that morning - at the time she thought she was dreaming, but now it grew apparent that it had been real. He'd been getting ready to leave, treading carefully so as not to make a sound. As he'd placed the note on the table beside her, he'd whispered something... but now she had no idea what on earth he had said.

Unceremoniously casting away the blankets, Susie rose from her bed groaning as she stretched her arms as high above her head as they could go. Beatrice's words from the night before remained etched clearly in her memory, the only thing she could truly recall with any lucidity. She'd forgotten how good it felt to cry. She had no idea how long it had been since the last time she let it happen - not since Ellie died, for certain. The combination of far too much wine and the sudden release of years of pent-up grief certainly had its way of making its effects felt the morning after. Susie staggered towards the bathroom, drinking cold water from her cupped palms with the fervour of someone dying of thirst, the relief to her throat immediate and heavenly.

Meatball darted back and forth between her feet as she dressed, and it was a constant fight not to trip as she pulled on her trousers. She'd awoken wearing what definitely was her sweater, but where it had come from she had no clue, as it had been tucked away in her drawers back at the hut the last time she remembered seeing it.

At least DeMarco had been right about the coffee. It felt strange to drink it sitting up at the bar, the rest of the pub lit with daylight and entirely deserted save for the barman, still cleaning pint glasses from the night before.

"You look like shit," He pointed out.

"Thank you," Susie nodded. There was a clock up on the wall behind the bar, its steady ticking piercing the veil of silence that lingered over the place. She stared at it for a while, watching the second hand rotate around and around as Meatball sniffed at her feet, nudging her toe with his nose. Tilting her cup, she felt a mouthful of hot coffee scald her throat as it worked its way down.

"Hey - d'you know what time the planes left?" She called to the barman as he wandered past, a keg of beer tucked under each arm.

He glanced up at the clock, blowing out a long breath. "Not sure, love. Think your fella left here about four hours ago, but I could be wrong."

"Oh, he's- ...Thanks." Susie gnawed at the inside of her lip, deciding the correction wasn't worth the energy it would take to make.

But there was something pecking away at her insides, something deep in her stomach that made her feel slightly ill the longer she stared up at the clock, watching the minutes tick by. Her heel began to tap incessantly against the leg of her barstool, heaving in one long sigh after the other, fingers drumming against the outside of her mug. There was a restlessness in her that was beginning to drive her mad, and it only worsened with each passing moment she spent just sitting there. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't just wallow in it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Meatball let out a joyful bark as they left the pub, sprinting down to the end of the road and straight back up to her, tail wagging wildly, tongue dangling to the side. Susie had tugged her sweater back on over her uniform shirt from the night before, slightly-too-long sleeves hanging down past her palms, the wool fraying in places around the hems from years of wear and tear.

She'd never attempted to walk all the way to the airstrip from the village, and the further she trekked it was beginning to become clear why. The hike was far longer than she'd envisioned, and by the time they arrived at the runway, her feet ached for release, although Meatball remained as chipper as ever, the familiar surroundings exciting him as he began to sniff around for friendly faces.

"Oi!" Susie was ripped from her thoughts by the echo of Charlotte's voice as the woman approached. Crowds had already begun to assemble, ambulances and medics waiting nearby in preparation for the worst. It was a formation she'd seen countless times before, but for some reason this time it felt different, a bolt of nausea running through her before she forced herself to look away, turning towards her friend. "You look terrible."

"Yeah, I know. Morning to you too."

"They said you were off sick today," Charlotte frowned, brow arched in question. Of course, she had noticed Susie's absence the night before. Whatever had happened - however her sweater had made its way from the hut to her sleeping form - she was bound to have questions.

"Uh, yeah, I am. I just - I wanted to come up here... are they on their way back?"

"Any minute now," She nodded. Folding her arms tight across her chest, Charlotte moved to stand beside Susie, swaying slightly on the balls of her feet as they both stared up at the grey sky above.

"... Y'know," Charlotte began. "I don't mind if you don't tell me where you went. But you can."

Susie leant towards her, their shoulders pressing together. "I know."

Almost as if on cue, the steady hum of engines came into earshot, the dark shapes of returning planes just visible through the thin blanket of cloud. She hadn't realised that she'd begun picking at her nails in agitation until Charlotte reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging her hands away from each other. Susie peered down at them, pink flesh raw and sore around the edges of her nails, then glanced across at her friend. Charlotte had noticed what she was doing without even having to look. She shoved her fists into her pockets.

The sounds of engines rose to a deafening roar as they swooped into land, propellers spinning to a slow halt as tyres skidded against concrete, coming to a slow stop one by one in various states of disrepair. Ground crews and medics were already springing into action from the moment the first bomber made touch-down, and all the two women could do was stand and watch, trying their best to make out the names scrawled across the noses of each passing fort.

She had long lost sight of Meatball, the dog skittering around the place and darting between legs in search of anyone familiar to him. Susie had begun to grow paranoid at her inability to locate 'Our Baby' when his bark split the air and he came bounding up to her from within the crowds, leaping up onto his hind legs as one of his claws caught on her sweater.

"Hey, hey, shhh," She cooed, stroking his head until he calmed down, stilling long enough for her to untangle his paw from the knots of wool. Meatball's tail wouldn't stop wagging, his head snapping back and forth between Susie and the crowds that covered the runway. When she glanced up, Charlotte was already walking away, a faint smirk creasing her cheek.

"Suze!" Her gaze darted towards the sudden voice, spotting DeMarco as he crossed the tarmac towards her, dark hair slick with sweat and plastered to his temples.

"Hey," She breathed, wide-eyed as he approached, a laugh escaping his throat as Meatball jumped up at him, barking with glee.

DeMarco stopped in front of her, lifting his hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Yesterday she would've flinched.

"You look nice," He said.

"Oh, shut up," Susie shook her head, breaking their moment of eye contact. He let out a low chuckle, clearly anticipating such a response. "...You alright?"

Nodding for a long moment, DeMarco took a deep breath. "Yeah. Could ask you the same."

"Right, well I was never at risk of getting blown up, but thanks," She huffed, squinting in the sunlight as she began to smile. As he began to shrug off his jacket, DeMarco let out a faint hiss of pain. Susie's eyes narrowed at him, folding her arms across her chest. "Uh-huh, right, so when you said you were fine you were full of shit?"

He batted a hand at her, shaking his head. "It's just a stiff back - woke up with it. 'S what happens when you sleep in a chair all night, y'know."

"You... Did you stay all night?"

DeMarco froze for a second, and from the way he was staring at her, she could tell he was trying to gauge her reaction, to predict her response.

"I... don't wanna answer that if it'll make you mad at me."

"I assumed you'd just come back in the morning. When I saw you leaving-"

"I thought you were asleep when I left."

"Mostly. I thought I was dreaming at the time."

A lopsided, boyish grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah? You dream about me a lot?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Susie rolled her eyes, whacking him across the shoulder and making him wince again. "... Sorry."

"It's cool. Hey, I gotta go debrief - I'll see you later, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, see you later," She nodded. As he began to walk away, she felt a question burning on the tip of her tongue, desperate to be asked. "Oh, hey - DeMarco?"

He stopped, turning back as he waited for her to speak. What had she wanted to say? Why did you stay? What did you say to me before you left? Why can't I think of anything but whether you're alright when you leave?

"Uh- it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Susie reached into the paper bag in her lap, passing a sandwich across to DeMarco as he poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, fending off Meatball to prevent him from snatching the meat out from between the bread. It had become a usual occurrence for him to join her on her lunch break, bringing with him food of his own to add to her meagre feast, and he came almost every day when he wasn't flying a mission. Charlotte and Maeve had joined them initially, but after returning to work the pair had been left alone, sitting in the grass beneath one of the trees at the edge of the airfield.

Lying back against the ground, she lifted her foot in the air, holding her toe to blot out the blinding afternoon sun. It was almost perfectly quiet here, the wall of trees muffling the constant noise of the ground crews, toiling away across the field.

"So," DeMarco began, propping himself up on his elbows. "If you weren't working here - if there wasn't a war and we didn't have to do all this - what d'you think you'd be doing right now?"

Susie frowned, letting out a faint huff. "God, I dunno. Probably still be in my old job."

"Which was-?"

"I was the projectionist at the Paramount in Manchester. Y'know - splicing the reels, switching them over, keeping the projectors running. Did that for five years before the war - got bloody good at it." When she looked over at him, he was smiling. "What?"

"Nothin', I just wouldn't have guessed it. You liked it?"

"Well, I got to sit around watching films on my own and no one talked to me."

"That tracks, actually."

Susie laughed, a deep chuckle vibrating from her chest. It had been a long time since she'd thought about that theatre, of the hours she'd spent sitting up in that tiny booth, only half paying attention to whatever book she had in her lap so that she was ready when the film ran its course. The constant clicking, rolling, scrolling sound of the reels of film had once occupied her mind almost permanently - she'd swear she could still hear it at dinner, or lying awake in bed at night, the noise etched into her very brain. But it had been years since she'd heard it now.

She lifted a hand to her mouth, biting nervously at her thumbnail for a moment as she built up the courage to speak again, feeling her heart rate begin to speed up inside her chest.

"I have a question, too."

"Oh yeah?" DeMarco shifted in the grass, propping himself up on one side so that he could face her properly. She wished he'd stop staring at her like that. It was awkward enough to ask what she needed to without those damn eyes on her, his expression always so open and forgiving no matter what venom seemed to lace her tongue.

Susie grunted, pushing herself up to stand as she paced back and forth in front of him for a while. He watched her go this way and that, over and over, beginning to frown. "You havin' a breakdown over there?"

"Will you come with me to Charlotte's wedding?" She blurted, rambling so quickly she was worried the words might have blurred together into a single, unintelligible slur.

"What?" DeMarco grinned, although there wasn't a hint of mockery in his smile.

"Charlotte said I could bring someone, I - I dunno, it's stupid, don't worry about it," Susie shook her head, a hint of red colouring her cheeks.

"No, no! I'll come. Not stupid," He hadn't moved from his spot, cheeks creasing with the weight of his grin.

She threw her hands up, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's just, I'm gonna be the only person showing up on my own otherwise, and it'll be weird and embarrassing and-"

"Hey, Susie! Susie. I already said I'll go. I'm just... I dunno, surprised to be your first choice."

Sitting back down again, Susie let out a long, deep breath, feeling a weight rise off her shoulders now that the question was out there in the open. The idea of showing up alone had been bugging her for weeks, but it wasn't until that morning, sitting alone in the bed he'd paid for, did she realise the answer had been in front of her all this time.

"Well, it's- ...Whatever, it's not like I had any old boyfriends to dig up for the occasion."

"You never had a boyfriend?" DeMarco scoffed in disbelief.

She narrowed her eyes at him, shrugging. "Don't act like it's so unbelievable. I mean, I've done the sex and the snoggin' and all that stuff but... no. Nothing serious. But I'm a bit bloody miserable and not very pretty so it adds up."

"Don't say that," He shook his head slightly, tone suddenly firm.

"Don't say what?"

"Don't say you're not pretty - you're very pretty, Suze."

"Oh, but I am miserable, eh?" Susie joked, attempting to hide how taken aback she'd been by his sudden seriousness.

"Hey, I'm sworn to honesty," DeMarco shrugged, laughing as she lashed out, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand.

"Bastard."

They slipped into silence, watching Meatball attempt to chase a small group of geese across the field. She chuckled as the dog darted back and forth, the birds leaping to fly over his head whenever he got too close. DeMarco let his head loll to the side again, watching her face as she smiled. Who the hell had told her she wasn't pretty? He couldn't believe it - couldn't fathom how she could either. There was something effortless to her that he found wonderful - how she never bothered to curl or pin her hair, how her uniform was never quite up to regulation, how she never seemed able to tie her necktie the same way twice.

Susie let out a groan, her head tilting back. "What is it now?" He asked.

"Remembered I have a job."

"That's rough. You should probably go do that."

With a sigh, she took the last sip of her coffee and scrambled to her feet, brushing stray pieces of grass off her trousers, a faint patch of damp creeping up her back. There was a leaf stuck to the back of her hair, and as Susie scrambled to collect her things, DeMarco stood up, trying and failing to reach it through her constant movement. She turned, almost bumping into him, their faces only inches apart.

"Can I help you?" Susie asked quietly.

He reached around to the back of her head, plucking away the leaf and holding it up so she could see. "Got it."

Letting out a snort of amusement, she nodded, taking a step back and turning to leave. "Come 'round my hut sometime and I'll give you the wedding invitation," She called over her shoulder, the sunlight hitting her auburn hair and lighting the frizz around its edges a bright, flaming orange.

"Will do!" DeMarco shouted in reply, standing perfectly still as he watched her hike up the slope to the top of the field and disappear. Looking down, he realised he was still holding the leaf in his hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Darkness had begun to fall over Thorpe Abbotts by the time Susie returned from work, a cigarette burning away between her lips as she approached her hut, keys jangling in her palm as she flicked through to find the right one. Sliding it into the lock and opening the door with a click, the place was already almost full as she entered, her bunkmates reading and chatting and pinning their hair into curlers in preparation for the next day. In the centre of the room, Charlotte and Maeve were holding up a long, white wedding gown, each of them gripping one end, eyeing it closely as they talked amongst themselves. Charlotte had spent months preparing the thing, sewing it herself out of scraps of parachute silk, and it was now achingly close to completion with only two weeks to spare.

"How's it lookin'?" Susie asked, strolling past them to get to her bed, shrugging off her jacket as she went.

"Come over here and put it on," Charlotte ordered.

She sighed, kicking her shoes off. "Again?" She and Charlotte shared almost identical measurements, and in the absence of any sort of mannequin, Susie found herself modelling the dress far more often than she would've liked.

"I think this should be the last time - I just need to sew the lace on once it comes in the post. But I'm not sure about the cut of the sleeves."

"Why can't you just put it on yourself?"

"Fine! Fine, God," Shaking her head, Susie crossed the room towards them, stripping off her uniform as she went. Her friends helped her into the dress, feeling almost lost beneath the layers of identical silk. Charlotte was slightly taller than her, so the hem of the skirt crumpled itself against the floor, but it was otherwise an almost perfect fit.

Maeve sat on the end of her bed, watching as Charlotte surveyed the dress, muttering inaudibly to herself as she poked at the sleeves and the fit of the bodice. Susie refused to turn her head for fear that she'd catch sight of her reflection in one of the girls' mirrors. She'd seen Charlotte wear it enough times to know what it must have looked like on her, but something about the idea of seeing it made her intensely uncomfortable.

"See, I'm thinking of taking the sleeves up a bit," Charlotte explained, marking out with her finger where she wanted to raise the fabric. "Like this, see?"

"Yeah, I think that'd be nice," Mave nodded. She had been dragged into the project just as involuntarily as Susie had, but they played their parts diligently for Charlotte's sake.

A knock sounded at the front door to the hut, and one of the other women scrambled up off her bed to go and answer it. People came by all the time, so the interruption hadn't even caught Susie's attention until her name was called.

"Susie! It's for you."

Her brow furrowed. "Who is it?" She replied, already thinking up an excuse to avoid having to go to the door. The woman stuck her head around the door again, talking briefly to whoever was outside.

"Says his name's Benny."

Maeve's face seemed to light up, grinning over at her. "Fuck's sake," Susie muttered, hiking up her skirts with as much care for Charlotte's handiwork as she could as she marched towards the front door.

DeMarco stood out in the darkness, a nearby streetlight basking half of his face in a warm glow. He'd smiled the moment she'd appeared in the doorway, but it faded into confusion as he took a moment to process her appearance.

"... Oh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Charlotte's wedding dress. We're the same size, she's- ...I dunno what she's doing really."

He let out a chuckle, nodding. She hadn't had a chance to deal with her hair since getting back, and curls protruded at all angles from the bun on the back of her head, which had been steadily slipping out of place for hours. Paired with the wedding gown, it was a distinctly strange combination.

"Well, I just came by to get the invite, I didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this is."

"Ooh, right," Susie nodded, using one of the other girls' boots as a makeshift doorstop as she scurried back inside, skirt held up to her knees as she rummaged in the drawer of her nightstand until she found it.

"There you go," She declared, holding it out to him as she returned.

"Thanks," DeMarco nodded, slipping the invitation into his pocket. Looking back up at her, he couldn't help but stare for a moment. Despite the strangeness of the situation, he couldn't deny that it suited her. He cleared his throat, shaking his head before his mind was allowed to wander to places he wasn't ready for. "Ok, well. Have fun with this," He said, gesturing to her dress. "I'll see you around."

"Yes," Susie spoke slowly, flashing him an awkward smile. As she reached back to close the door, a forgotten pin hidden inside one of the seams poked through her flesh, eliciting a hiss of pain. "Fuck! Charlotte, you haven't taken all the pins out of this thing!"

From somewhere inside, Charlotte's voice echoed. "Take it off before you get blood on it!"

Benny cleared his throat, feeling heat rise to his face. "Oh, right, ok - I'll be on my way."

"Bye!" She yelped, practically slamming the door in his face in her desperation to get out of the dress. Through the door, he could hear muffled voices, fast and irritated, and he let out a chuckle, gravel crunching beneath his feet as he walked away.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 1

Masterlist |-| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: When Bernard DeMarco is forced to find ATS Commander Susie Lamb, his expectations are tainted by her less-than-savoury reputation. However, the more time he spends with her, the more he begins to suspect she's been misjudged by the people of Thorpe Abbotts.

Warnings: Language, drinking, smoking

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd

Bernard DeMarco stared down at the steadily cooling coffee in his hand, the warmth of the mug heating his palms, which had been chilled to the bone even through his gloves on the long-haul flight over from Greenland. Almost ten hours in the sky, staring out at nothing but rolling clouds and the faint grey line of the horizon. Even with Cleven chatting at his side and Meatball nudging the back of his seat, it had been difficult to stay alert for so long, and now he found himself in dear want of a rest.

Instead, he was here, sitting around a long table in the mess hall when he could've been in bed, listening to his friends' chatter, his dog resting its snout against his knee. Benny knew how to pretend he wasn't feeling the wear - to put on a grin and laugh along to everyone's jokes as if he were still awake and raring to go, when the thing he wanted more than anything was a chance to shed the uniform he'd been wearing all day and just sit down somewhere quiet.

The door to the mess hall swung open and the Colonel wandered in, peering with a frown at the piece of paper in his hand, a typed list he couldn't make out stamped upon it. "Colonel," Egan nodded, tilting an imaginary cap in greeting. Hugh stopped at the end of the table, surveying the faces of the group that had assembled.

"Afternoon fellas. I got a supply list I need running up to the ATS - just some stuff we're gonna need brought in for the next run. Uh... DeMarco? D'you mind?"

DeMarco's brow furrowed in confusion, glancing around at the others to check if anyone else had noticed how unorthodox this order was. "Sir? All due respect, but ain't that a job for a runner or somethin'?"

"Usually, but... I'd like someone a little more experienced."

At the opposite end of the table, a playful grin had begun making its way across Curt's face. "Oh-ho, he's gotta talk to Commander Lamb, don't he?"

Bucky had begun to smirk to himself, lifting a hand over his mouth to make it less obvious. Benny figured he must've looked somewhere between dumbstruck and panicked by the way Hugh had begun to speak in a soothing, gentle tone. "Look, the Commander's just a little difficult. We send the runners up there, she gets 'em all turned around, and they don't get the information we need. I'm lookin' for a firm hand, is all. Besides, you can give the dog a walk."

He was thoroughly unsatisfied with this justification for making him walk halfway across the airfield, but it was becoming clearer by the minute that it wasn't something he could get out of. With a disgruntled sigh, he rose to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he grabbed Meatball's leash, the dog already at his heels, tail wagging and ready to go, far more chipper than his owner. DeMarco grabbed the list from the Colonel without so much as glancing at its contents, heading towards the mess hall doors to the sound of Biddick's chuckling.

The sun hung high in the sky, a beacon in a sea of blue, the weather so blissfully perfect that it actually seemed to worsen his mood more than anything. He was usually a fun guy, everyone thought so, but today he was just too goddamn tired. Meatball was having the time of his life, drinking from every puddle and pissing against every tree they passed, the constant stopping only succeeding in doubling the time their journey took. By the time he reached the ATS garages, DeMarco was confident he never wanted to see Hugh's stupid list - or whoever this Commander Lamb was - ever again.

The garages were a bustle of activity, trucks and motorbikes pulling in and out all over the place, Air Force and ATS alike hauling crates of all kinds of ammunition, food supplies, and whatever else the air base could possibly require. Standing in the doorway of the nearest building was a woman - easy on the eyes, orange-haired, staring down at a clipboard in her hand as she ticked off whatever the men nearby were carrying inside.

"Uh- ma'am?" He called, tugging on Meatball's lead as they approached. The woman seemed to see the dog before she did DeMarco, a pleasant smile creasing her cheeks as she looked up at him.

"Yes... Captain?" She asked, peering at the insignia on his jacket for confirmation.

"I gotta supply list from Colonel Hugh to pass onto a Commander Lamb?"

The woman raised a brow as if to say 'You sure about that?', but she turned nevertheless, yelling over her shoulder into the huge supply hangar behind her. "Susie!"

Peering past the woman, DeMarco watched as a figure approached from inside, initially obscured by the shadow of a huge supply truck, but when she stepped into the light it gave him pause. Her hair fell unpinned halfway down her back, brown waves shining red in the sunlight. She wore olive slacks instead of the standard-issue uniform skirt, and a leather bomber jacket with 'S. Lamb' printed on the breast like the ones he'd seen some of the pilots wear. She hardly looked like she was supposed to be on duty at all, but she marched up to them all the same, taking the clipboard from the other woman and looking it over.

"Charlotte, go help Fisher - she's got some stuff to go to Sergeant Bevan on the hardstand," She ordered, and the woman scurried away inside. Once the two of them were alone, Susie stared back at him for a long moment, brow raised as she waited for him to speak. "...So?"

Suddenly DeMarco was beginning to understand what the others had meant. Her accent was harsh, less refined than the other English workers he'd met since his arrival, and she didn't exactly look pleased to see him. Frankly, she had a face that suggested she was never glad to see anyone.

"Got a list from Colonel Hugh - requests for ammo supplies," He stated, holding it up to her. "We need-"

"Ah-" Lamb raised a hand to stop him. "If you're gonna talk, you've gotta walk with me."

She began to walk before he had a chance to respond. "Well alright then," He muttered under his breath, beginning to trail after her, tugging at Meatball's lead so that he would follow along. "Five hundred AN-M30s, four hundred AN-M64s, six hundred USAAF five hundred pound-ers..." DeMarco rattled off Hugh's list, squinting to read the paper as it shook in his hand against the breeze. Ahead of him, Susie was peering into the backs of the row of trucks that had just arrived, scribbling away on her clipboard. He wasn't entirely sure she was listening.

He stopped talking just before they reached the end of the row, having to tug Meatball along as he got distracted by the crates of food being brought in. Lamb ticked something off in her notes before turning on her heel to look at him. "That everything?"

"Yeah, that's it," Benny confirmed, sliding the list back into his pocket. She raised her brow again in that inquisitive way she did. It was already getting annoying.

"I'm not gonna remember all that, am I? Gimme the list," She huffed, holding out her hand.

"Then why did you have me read it all out?" He grumbled, fishing out the wad of paper and handing it over.

"I didn't ask you to do that. I just said if you were gonna, you'd have to follow me," Thinking it over, he realised she was right. He hated that. "But, yunno. Most of the runners Hugh sends up here would've already shat themselves and run off by now, so good job."

DeMarco bristled, squaring his shoulders. "I'm not a runner, I'm a Captain."

Susie was looking down at the list, but she peered back up at him with a wonky grin. "Jesus, what'd you do to get stuck with the 'Susie Lamb punishment', eh? Did your dog take a shit on the Colonel's desk or summat?"

He frowned, her self-awareness almost alarming. She clearly knew what the others said about her, but she simply didn't care - in all honesty, there was something he admired in that.

"I think the Colonel just wanted someone who wouldn't get scared off," He confessed.

She snorted. "Maybe he should try hiring runners who don't piss themselves whenever a woman frowns at 'em." For a moment the shell almost seemed cracked, a not-so-scary Susie peeking out. But then a loud clatter sounded across the yard, and DeMarco turned to see one of the deliverymen scrounging to pick up the machine gun rounds that had scattered across the tarmac when he accidentally dropped a crate. "Oi!" Susie yelled, beginning to storm off, raising a hand in what could've either been a wave goodbye or a dismissal.

Meatball tried to nip at her heels as she marched towards the deliveryman, tugging on his leash with such force that DeMarco was almost forced to follow, but he managed to stand his ground. He couldn't make out what Susie was saying at such a distance, but by the way the colour drained from the poor man's face, it was nothing good. Letting out a chuckle, he counted himself lucky that he had yet to meet Commander Lamb at her most formidable.

After all, she did have access to all the bombs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had barely risen by the time the pilots stepped onto the runway, the airfield bursting into a bustle of activity as the last planes were prepped, and the flight crews readied themselves to board. DeMarco had managed a decent half night's sleep, and was at least in a better mood than he had been the previous afternoon. Although, the powdered eggs they'd served up for breakfast hadn't helped.

There were a dozen things to worry about concerning the flight ahead, but in all honesty he was mainly concerned about what he was going to do with Meatball. It seemed not to have occurred to him when he first adopted the stray that he couldn't bring him on missions, and the prospect of leaving him all alone damn near broke his heart.

His train of thought was severed by the roar of engines as a supply truck rolled up to 'Our Baby' just along the runway to deliver the last of the spare machine gun rounds. A familiar flicker of red caught the light as Susie Lamb craned her head out of the driver's seat window, barking to one of the ground crewmen as he scurried to unload the cargo. An idea sparked in DeMarco's mind, and he could already see Curt shooting him a confounded look as he bounded up to the vehicle.

Susie was just reaching for a lighter, an unlit cigarette poised between her lips, as he reached her window, plastering on the best friendly smile that he could muster. She hadn't heard him approach over the hum of the engine, and the shock of the face suddenly at her side made the cigarette tumble from her mouth, falling into the footwell. "Jesus fucking Christ," She hissed, voice thick with irritation. "Can I help you?"

"I don't have anyone to watch Meatball while I'm up," Benny explained, and she peered out of the window at the dog, who was staring slack-jawed up at her, wagging its tail. "I was wondering if I could trouble you for the favour?"

There was that eyebrow again. She had a way of drawing out those painful silences that just made him want to squirm, immediately regretting whatever he'd asked. Perhaps Hugh's runners had had a point.

"You want me to babysit your dog?"

Suddenly the suggestion felt ridiculous. "Well, I just-"

"Eh, fuck it," Sticking her foot out, Susie kicked open the passenger side door. "Chuck him in."

The moment DeMarco moved to unclip Meatball's leash, it was as if he knew exactly where he was going, claws skittering against the tarmac as he bounded around to the other side of the truck, leaping unprompted up into the seat, tail wagging wildly. It was almost offensive, how pleased the mutt was to be rid of him. "Alright, alright," Benny muttered, closing the door behind him. "Thanks for this. Seriously."

"It's nothing - he already seems to prefer me, anyway."

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat- loudly. "Name's DeMarco, by the way. Bernard DeMarco."

Susie was already tugging at the handbrake, the engine roaring to life once more. "Yeah, I know," She nodded, an almost-smile tugging at her lips, pulling away before he could respond as Meatball's head lolled happily out of the window.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The supply depot was almost empty by the time the pilots returned, the rumble of DeMarco's freshly commandeered jeep splitting the silence as he rolled to a stop, looking around for some sign of his dog. "Susie?" He called as he clambered out, peering into each hangar as he passed, unable to locate any signs of life. The ATS women seemed to have all taken the afternoon - that or they were all busy delivering supplies to the mechanics.

"Susie?"

A familiar bark pierced the air, and he followed it around to the back of one of the buildings. A bench ran along the back wall of the hangar, basking in the afternoon sunlight, and there she sat, a book open in her lap, halfway through eating a sandwich. Her hair was pulled back messily into a bun, stray auburn curls sticking out at random angles, and Meatball lay stretched out at her feet, occasionally jumping up to chase after a tiny yellow butterfly.

"Ah. You're alive then," Susie stated plainly, squinting in the sun as she looked up at him.

DeMarco shrugged. "Just about."

"That's good. Didn't know what I was gonna do with him otherwise," She gestured to Meatball using her sandwich, chuckling as the dog snapped his jaws at a passing insect. "... You ok?"

"Do I not look it?" He took at seat at the opposite end of the bench, a deliberate gap left between them. Benny didn't exactly want to hang around; he was just tired, and he appreciated the opportunity to sit on something that wasn't moving.

"There's a cut on your cheek," She pointed out, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she talked around her food. Raising a hand to his face, DeMarco's fingertips came away red. He hadn't even noticed the pain.

"Occupational hazard... did you feed him?"

"Gave him a sandwich."

"You can't feed a dog a sandwich!" DeMarco exclaimed, and Susie shrugged, nonchalant in a way that annoyed him.

"Well, you're the one who made it my problem! Didn't even ask if I knew what to feed the damn thing!"

"Well, I just assumed you were a human being and had some inclination that dogs might eat dog food. Forgive me."

Susie shot him a glare. "Having a dog isn't a prerequisite to being alive, mate. D'you think I've got dog food sitting around? I have an actual job that I have to do, it gets in the way a bit."

He turned sideways on the bench to look at her properly. "Y'know, I thought people didn't like you because you're mean. But it's really because you don't give a shit about anything except yourself, isn't it?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He wasn't that kind of person - he didn't say those kinds of things to people. He didn't want Susie to think that he did. But she seemed entirely unphased, taking another bite of her sandwich with so little a reaction he almost doubted ever having spoken at all. She chewed and swallowed painfully slowly, and he began to realise she was prolonging the silence on purpose, giving him time to stew on his own words. DeMarco felt his face begin to heat up.

"You can take the dog back now," She said after a while, turning to the next page of her book.

"Susie, I'm sorry," He blurted. She looked at him then, and for a moment he swore he saw surprise in her expression. "I shouldn't've said that."

"Heard worse. Though, most people actually mean it," Susie shrugged. "And I do give a shit about other people. It just... takes a minute."

Nodding slowly, he let out a whistle, and Meatball bounded over, tail wagging as he dutifully allowed him to reattach his leash. DeMarco wasn't quite sure what to say. He didn't know this woman, not yet, but he was getting the distinct impression that the others had been wrong about her. As he stood up, running a hand across his chin, he took a deep breath. "Hey. Me and the fellas are gonna get drinks tonight, to celebrate the mission. You should come."

The corners of her lips turned up in a smirk. "Yeah. I mean, I was going anyway - but I'll be there."

"Alright," Benny nodded, smiling involuntarily. "I'll buy you a beer. Call it payment - for the babysitting."

"Well if I'm getting paid I definitely won't feed him sandwiches next time," Susie joked. He let out a laugh, suddenly realising that, yes. There would be a next time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

If there was one thing Thorpe Abbotts would have benefitted from, it was an additional pub. The village had not been prepared for the sudden influx of pilots and crew and the hundreds of other workers that came with them, so a night in the pub had become a sure recipe for claustrophobia and havoc. Meatball was curled up at DeMarco's feet, half sitting on him for lack of space beneath the table. A pile of empty pint glasses was growing in the centre of the table, laughter growing louder with each passing drink as they grew steadily more intoxicated - drunk on victory more than they were alcohol.

Susie stood at the bar with a small group of ATS girls, beer in hand, listening and chuckling along to their stories of workplace mishaps and awkward encounters with the men they had to work with. Even if every single other person at Thorpe Abbotts thought poorly of her, the women under Susie's command never would. She was a protector - a personification of a rougher class of women, utterly unafraid to throw a punch where the others shied away. In Norfolk, it was uncommon to find an English girl working in a job like this who hadn't been raised in privilege - middle-class families in country cottages, who had never had reason to find an occupation until war broke out. None of them quite understood why Susie Lamb had come all this way, her Manchester accent sticking out like a sore thumb - but they were glad she had.

"-And then I told him, 'Mate, if you're not gone in five minutes, I'll kick your balls so far up your throat you won't need breakfast'," Susie explained, the women around her erupting into laughter as she wiped a thin line of beer foam away from her top lip.

Charlotte chuckled, the red-haired Subaltern finishing off a half-pint of cider as she reached into her pocket for a cigarette. "The pool table's freed up - we should get in there before the Yanks get a chance."

Susie nodded in firm agreement, and was about to follow the other women towards the far corner of the pub when a sudden mass at her feet almost tripped her, beer sloshing over the rim of her glass and landing on Meatball's head as he let out a bewildered yelp. Letting out a tsk as she sucked her teeth, she crouched down beside the dog, grabbing for a napkin as she dabbed at his fur. "You've gotta watch yourself, lad," She scolded gently, soft voice barely audible in the pub's din. "Can't go wonderin', your dad'll worry."

Tilting his damp head up at her, Meatball let out a whine, his tail beginning to wag as he seemed to recognise her face. "Hey, Meatball, quit runnin' off," A familiar voice called across the crowd. Giving the dog an affectionate scratch below its chin, Susie rose to her feet, lifting a hand to beckon DeMarco over. "Oh, hey. Well, at least he found a familiar face in this damn place," He huffed.

"Well, he did get covered in beer for his trouble, not sure he'll bother again," She shrugged, batting Meatball away as he tried to stick his nose up under the hem of her skirt.

With a sudden, sinking feeling, DeMarco realised he'd forgotten to buy her the drink he'd promised. Rummaging in his pockets, he handed over a few coins to cover the cost. It wasn't the same. "Sorry, I, uh... I forgot you were coming," He admitted, red tinting his cheeks in shame.

"No worries - I noticed you were far too busy losing at darts," Susie teased, shoving the money into her pocket.

"Hey, now, I wouldn't call it losing," Shaking his head, he moved closer to where she stood at the bar, stepping out of the way of the crowds.

"Really? Failing, then?"

DeMarco batted a hand in dismissal, a smile curling his lips. "Oh, well, if you're so good at darts-"

"I am actually," Susie shrugged.

"Of course you are. You're gonna say you Brits are all good at playing darts - just like you're all good at making tea and... I dunno, sheep herding?"

She let out a laugh, teeth peeking through her grin. He liked her smile. There was a rosy pink in her cheeks, and he couldn't tell if it was the warmth of the pub or the alcohol or something else, but it suited her.

Susie nodded as she took another sip of her drink. "Aw, you got me. You've found my secret hobby - I do love to herd sheep. Yes."

Benny smiled warmly, leaning one elbow up against the bar as he watched her. A curl had slipped loose from behind her ear, and in the warm light of the room, it shone a flaming red. From across the room, a few of the ATS women let out a cheer, the orange-haired woman he'd met at the supply depot grinning as she passed her pool cue to the next woman. He cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way, could I talk to, uh - Charlotte? Is it?"

Her smile vanished. A wave of panic filled him. Susie began to nod bitterly, gnawing at the inside of her lip. There was a look in her eye, like she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it finally had.

"Are you kidding me? ...Yeah. Yunno what? Fuck you, DeMarco."

“What? I don’t-”

“No, no. I get it. You thought being nice to me would get you an in with the pretty ATS girls - you’re not the first one who’s tried it,” Tilting her head, she upturned the rest of her beer, swallowing it in a single gulp. “Charlotte’s engaged, by the way. I’m sure you can try your luck somewhere else.”

"Susie, I didn't-"

"Hey Benny!" Egan's voice rang out from over by the dartboard. "C'mon, it's your turn!"

"Yeah, Benny, it's your turn," Susie repeated, her words laced with venom, practically spitting his own name back at him. "Although, two losses in one night might be a bit rough, eh?"

His mouth gaped open and shut for a moment like a dying fish, and before he could find a word to say she had scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed away from the bar, diving into the crowd as she fought to put distance between them. Meatball had almost tried to follow her before the wall of people separated them, and he let out a defeated whimper, returning to his owner, tail between his legs.

Charlotte was about to bend over to take her next shot when she felt a hand pressed against her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Susie, cheeks flushed, a frown furrowing her brow. "Can I bum a cig? I'm heading off," She whispered.

"Yeah, sure," The subaltern nodded, holding out the crumpled box she carried with her. "You ok?"

"All good. Thanks," She nodded, propping a cigarette between her lips as she made for the door. The night air hit her face with such chilling force that it almost hurt, a cloud forming as she sighed, plucking a lighter from her pocket, the cigarette embers releasing a comforting heat.

The walk back to barracks was a long one, a seemingly endless row of identical Nissen huts stretching out before her by the time Susie reached the airfield, exhaling one puff of smoke after another. There was always too much stewing in her mind - a solid wall of white noise, her thoughts stirring together like ingredients to the most repugnant soup ever concocted. It was difficult to even pluck out a single emotion amongst all that hubbub.

I hate you DeMarco, but I like your dog, but you're just like everyone else, except if you're not, except if I was wrong.

The lights in her hut turned on with a click, the room filling itself with a yellow glow, the faint hum of lightbulbs audible in the silence. Everyone else was out - dress uniforms taken off their hangers, the smell of freshly applied perfume still lingering in the air. Susie had stomped her cigarette out on the damp grass outside, the smell of smoke permeating her clothes. She raised her hands to cover her face, agonised groan muffled by the sweaty skin of her palms as she collapsed backwards onto her bed, the springs creaking noisily.

Staring at the ceiling didn't solve anything - not the anger in her chest, nor the lingering feeling in her gut that she'd gotten something badly wrong. Letting her head loll to the side, Susie stared at the picture frame propped up on her nightstand, the photo's corners battered and bent beneath the layer of glass that encased it. Her mother, rounded and warm, a tiny, swaddled baby in her arms. Her father, sturdy and dependable, holding a spindly, blond-headed toddler against his hip. And a row of six little children, flashing the same gap-toothed smiles, all dressed in their nicest clothes, which never quite seemed to fit properly.

She could see her own face - a tiny, chubby, three-year-old face that wasn't really her own anymore, curls erupting like a lion's mane around her head. They were all squinting in the sun, lined up outside the only house she'd ever called her own. She could feel their eyes on her - her own most of all. Reaching out, Susie caught the top of the frame with her finger, flipping it over, out of sight, as if covering their faces would somehow make her feel less judged.

"Oh, piss off, you lot."

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 10

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |-| Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Warnings: gettin' kinda angsty in here folks

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy @justheretoreadthxxs @ginabaker1666

The truck radio hummed softly, echoing in the cavernous garage as Susie rummaged through the back, tossing empty crates aside with a clatter as she cleared space for the day's supply run. It was expected that the ATS drivers kept their trucks clean and free of clutter, but she had found herself... distracted, as of late. With a grunt, she lifted an empty box, chucking it blindly behind her as it crashed against the tarmac. "If you're satisfied, I'll be at your side, Sunday, Monday or always," She murmured, singing half-heartedly along to the radio as she grabbed another crate.

"Hey!" DeMarco's voice suddenly split the air. Susie had been so engrossed in her work, her mind turned off to just the simple rhythm of 'grab, throw, grab, throw' that his arrival caught her completely off guard, letting out a yelp of surprise. She had been mid-swing already, letting go of the box and sending it spinning, narrowly missing Benny as he let out an almost identical cry. "Jesus, Suze!" He exclaimed, jerking sideways in an attempt to dodge the crate as it clattered to the ground beside him.

"Don't sneak up on me like that! Scared the shit out of me," She huffed, wiping a hand across her forehead.

"Yeah, I noticed!" Benny cried, hands planted firmly on his hips like a scolding parent. "... What're you doin'?"

Susie let out a sigh. "Clearing out space. It's supply run day!" She sang sarcastically, forcing a grin so visibly strained that it made him snort with laughter.

"Alright, I'll go grab lunch," He nodded, beginning to wander off again.

Brow furrowed, she leant out of the truck bed, peering after him as he went. "... What are you talking about?"

"Well, I'm comin'," He paused, shrugging as if it was obvious.

Susie's lip began to curl in a smile. "You don't have to do that."

"You know I'm doing it anyway."

"I will point out that the last time you came, we broke down in a ditch."

"That definitely wasn't my fault."

"Just saying - it's happened one hundred per cent of the times you're there, and zero per cent of the times you're not."

Benny's brow furrowed. "... You sayin' I'm cursed?"

Susie shrugged. "You said it, not me."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he resumed his pace. "Alright, well, gotta test it somehow. I'll be back in a sec - love you!" Calling as he left the garage, the words alone made him beam, a definite spring in his step as he headed off in search of food. Simply being able to say it - to say it to her and to know she understood, to reaffirm how much he meant it every time the words left him - meant everything. It didn't matter how long it took Susie to say it back - weeks, months, years - it wasn't about that. He knew how much harder this would be for her, but he never doubted for a second that she felt it too. Understanding was love in itself.

She was perched sideways in the driver's seat when he returned, feet swinging out of the open door as he came to lean against it, positioning himself in the space between her knees. He beamed up at her in that way he always did, eyes so unbelievably soft that it made Susie squirm, nose scrunched as she shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. "You ready to go?" Benny asked, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face, letting his palm rest against her cheek for a moment as he did so. She felt every millimetre of skin, his fingertips scorching marks across her face, and even when her first instinct told her to pull away, all she wanted to do was stay.

"Yep," Susie confirmed with a nod, snatching the bag of food and flashing a grin as she nudged him away with her boot, turning to face the steering wheel. His smile only widened, taking a few giddy steps back before looping around the truck to take his spot in the seat beside her.

DeMarco kept the map unfolded in his lap as she drove, gaze following every turn they took along the twisting lines that marked the page. He seemed to like tracing their position - at least it helped keep him occupied, and ensured one of them would certainly know where they were, should events take a turn for the worst. The radio continued to hum softly, barely audible over the roar of the engine, but Susie tapped her finger against the steering wheel in time with the bass nonetheless.

He had twisted sideways in his seat, shoulder resting against the backrest as Benny stared at her profile for a long moment, examining the way her gaze flickered across the road ahead, the way her curls fluttered in the breeze streaming through the open window.

"... Can I help you?" Susie asked after a while of this.

He shrugged. "Just lookin'."

She scoffed slightly. "Alright, well, you're making me antsy. Not very 'road safety', yunno."

The corner of his lip rose in a lopsided smile, tilting his head slightly at her. She persisted in never meeting his gaze, until a sudden question made its way to the forefront of his mind, slipping free along his tongue before he had a chance to reconsider it.

"You gonna introduce me to your mom?"

For a while, Susie did nothing but splutter loudly at this, face reddening by the second as more incoherent sounds tumbled from her mouth.

"What? Jesus Christ, no, you are not meeting my Irish Catholic Ma, not for a long time," She stammered, trying not to think too hard about the unspoken implications of such a question, nor those of her own response.

"Why not?" Benny asked, brow furrowing with a frown.

"Well for a start, if I tell her about any of this in any detail I'll have to mention us spending the night in a hotel room alone together, and she'd probably whack you with a spoon over it," Susie chuckled slightly, the mental image of her mother doing such a thing as amusing as it was exasperating. "Besides, it's more important that my siblings like you anyway - they actually know where I live."

"Alright," He nodded firmly, sitting up straight as his expression became drawn in focus. "Challenge accepted. Gimme the breakdown."

"You wanna know?"

"Oh, yeah."

Susie laughed. "Alright. Ronnie and Sally are the oldest - twins. Ronnie's the only one who might actually hurt you if you pull any dodgy shit, but his wife Rebecca's running the ship while he's away in the army, and she's one of the best people I've ever met, so you should be grand. Sally's like a less depressive clone of our Ma and she basically raised me, but I definitely think she'll like you. Owen will too - I'm his favourite."

"Naturally," Benny grinned, nodding along as he took in as much information as he could, fighting not to forget each name as it came.

"Bea's next - she's the one who's married to that Marshal I punched the shit out of a while back," She shrugged, making his chuckle in fond reminiscence. "She's a full-on ginger but she dyes her hair brown 'cuz she thinks it makes her look classier - do not tell her I told you that," Pointing sharply across at him, Benny raised his hands in surrender.

"Cross my heart," He promised.

"Nancy's a bit of a wet blanket, bless her - she's lovely, she just cries a lot. Emotionally... vulnerable. My little brother Pat's just a dickhead. I mean, he's a great guy and everyone loves him, but he didn't tell me when he got engaged last month and I'm pissed about it."

"Well did you tell him about me?" Benny asked with a smirk. Susie tore her gaze from the road just long enough to shoot him a narrow-eyed glare.

"That's different," She grumbled, letting out a squawk as he lunged towards her, palms planted on either side of her face, holding her in place as he swiftly planted a firm kiss on her cheek. "I swear to god, I'll crash and we'll both die - is that what you want?"

"Crash into what?" He laughed, glancing out the window at the empty road ahead, nothing surrounding them but miles of fields.

"I'll figure something out."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

With the supplies successfully retrieved, the pair found time to stop for lunch, pulling over in a ditch at the side of the road and sitting on the bonnet. Susie sat cross-legged, battered old boots tucked beneath her thighs as she leaned back against the windscreen, reaching into the paper bag for another sandwich. Benny let out a long sigh, swinging his legs back and forth over the front of the truck, heels thumping against the grille.

"'Nother mission tomorrow," He frowned, peering down into his flask. Susie always made him some tea to go with her own.

Benny hated tea. He drank the whole thing anyway.

"Mhm," She hummed. "Where to?"

"Uh... Bremen? Or something? I think. We don't get told much in advance," Shrugging, he pushed himself backwards, sliding along the bonnet so that he could lean against the window beside her.

Susie nodded, the name unfamiliar to her. "What's it like?" Benny asked after a beat of silence, her head rolling to the side to stare at him. "On the ground, I mean, when we're flying. I never really thought about it."

Her brow furrowed, lip jutting outwards slightly in a frown as she paused to consider this. It wasn't something she'd ever tried to define before - the strange sense of limbo took up so much of her life these days that it had simply become routine, a burden to grow desensitized to.

"I dunno, it's... weird. I mean I'm working a lot of the time, so it's not always, but sometimes you end up just sitting around and waiting and it feels really strange. It's like... everyone knows what could be happening. We know people we care about could be dying, we know we might never see them again, but really you don't know shit. You just have to wait and hope and try not to get in your head about it, 'cause you're completely helpless, and you're not gonna know anything until those planes come back... And then whoever you're waiting for either comes back, or they don't."

Benny had nothing to say to this, not a single word of comfort to offer that could help. It felt selfish to never have considered such a thing, to never have thought of how his absence could have affected those below - how it could have affected Susie.

It was different for him, being in the air, seeing events as they unfolded. Even if the man being shot down was his friend, there was a part of him that could move past it - toss it away somewhere to deal with later and simply get the job done. But their journeys lasted hours - hours of waiting, of sitting and hoping with no way of knowing who would be coming back, forced to take the brunt of every single loss all at once as the planes rolled in together.

He could tell her he wasn't going anywhere - that he'd always make it back.

It wouldn't reassure either of them.

Susie stared down at her lap, picking at her thumbnail the way she always did when she was nervous, when something was bothering her deep down, rotting away at her gut. Benny reached over, gently seizing her hand and tugging it towards him, cradling it with both palms. She watched, unmoving and silent, staring at the motion of his thumb as he rubbed soft circles across the back of her hand.

After a little while, she leant towards him, resting her hair against his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall with every slow, calm breath he took. Susie let her eyes fall shut for a moment. Would they always be like this? Would he always be so tender, so gentle? Then maybe someday she'd truly believe in this, and trust that she hadn't tricked him into loving her, that he truly wanted to take care of her better than she'd managed to herself.

Lifting her head, Susie turned to rest her chin atop his shoulder, unable to fight the urge to smile as he met her gaze, teeth visible through pink lips. He tilted his head to reach her, their foreheads pressed together, the tip of his nose brushing against hers.

"I love you, Susie," He uttered, barely even audible, breath fanning her cheek. "Nothin's gonna change that."

Her grin softened, lips pressed together in a small smile.

"I know."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Maeve twiddled her fingers in the passenger seat, regulation boots propped up against the dashboard as the truck rolled towards the runway on yet another routine trip, ammunition rattling in the back. Susie gripped the wheel, staring straight ahead and resisting the instinct to look over at the girl, whose gaze she could feel burning into the side of her head.

"You sure you're ok?" Maeve asked. "You seem weird."

"Me? What d'you mean?"

"I dunno," She shrugged. "You just seem different. You're gripping that wheel like your life depends on it."

"Well... it kinda does. I mean, I can crash if you'd prefer."

"Oh, har har," Maeve mocked, smirking. "Anyone told you you're not as funny as you think you are?"

"No one's ever assumed I thought I was funny," Susie snorted, reaching across to smack the girl across the shin. "Now get your feet off my fuckin' truck - who raised you?"

Maeve chuckled, sitting up straight as they reached the runway, pulling up alongside the first bomber, the words 'Our Baby' painted in huge letters across the side. From there they both spied Benny immediately, leaning against one of the wheels, smiling as the familiar truck rolled to a halt. Maeve shot Susie a pointed look, earning a faint slap against the shoulder as they both clambered out, veering around back to unload their supplies.

"Alright, take this one down there," Susie grunted, heaving a crate out of the truck and into Maeve's arms, pointing her in the right direction. "And then come back for another one when you're done."

"On it," She nodded, cropped blonde hair bobbing with every movement of her head as she marched dutifully away.

Turning back to the vehicle, Susie reached for the next box, tugging it halfway out before a sudden pair of hands on her waist caught her by surprise, making her jump. "Jesus!" She huffed, turning to shoot Benny a glare as he beamed behind her. "Thought you'd've learnt from yesterday not to scare me when I'm carrying heavy shit."

"Thought I'd take my chances," He shrugged, pressing his lips to her shoulder as she rolled her eyes, turning away again.

"Dickhead," Susie chuckled, shaking her head.

"Woah, there!" DeMarco exclaimed. "Are you allowed to talk to me like that?"

"Allowed?" She parroted, brow raised. "Don't start acting like you get to tell me what to do."

"Well, I do outrank you," He teased, tugging at her waist so that she faced him again, leaning forward until their faces were scarcely an inch apart.

"Well, I don't care," Susie chuckled, tilting her head up to meet him, their lips connecting in a kiss. His hand was on her cheek almost instantly, and she could feel his smile against her, tugging against the strap of his parachute to keep him close.

A sudden yelp caught them both unawares, the pair bolting apart faster than they'd ever come together, each taking a decisive step back. Maeve had just come around the side of the truck, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of them, grinning harder than Susie had ever seen her grin before.

"Oh, I knew it!" She cackled, delivering a single clap of elation. "Charlotte's gonna love this."

"Maeve," Susie frowned, tone stern.

"What? Not my fault you're havin' a snog in the exact place you told me to come once I'd finished."

She paused, puffing her cheeks slightly, unable to come up with any argument against that. "Right, well, just get on with it then," Susie ordered, waving her hands as she shooed the girl away. Giggling to herself, Maeve grabbed another crate, disappearing again as she wandered off towards the next bomber along the row.

"She'll be the death of me," Susie muttered, turning back to where Benny was fighting to suppress a smile. "You oughta head off as well then, off you go."

"Yes ma'am. See you in a minute," DeMarco nodded sharply, grinning as he pressed another quick peck to her lips before beginning the jog towards his plane.

"Yeah, whatever," She rolled her eyes teasingly, unable to fight the flush of red creeping into her cheeks as she watched him go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It would be nearly six hundred days before Susie Lamb and Bernard DeMarco ever saw each other again.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 12

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

AO3

Summary: Susie returns to Thorpe Abbotts following the loss of DeMarco

Warnings: more angst :)

Word Count: 2.6k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy @justheretoreadthxxs @blakelysco-pilot

Thorpe Abbotts was quieter than Susie remembered it when she finally returned - her two-week-long disappearance drawing to a close - Meatball's leash around her wrist, a suitcase swinging back and forth in her other hand. When she'd arrived on Beatrice's doorstep, she'd had scarcely more than the clothes on her back, but in her sister's eyes, she would've been remiss to let her leave without at least a new pair of shoes to replace the worn out old boots on her feet.

The crunch of gravel split the evening quiet as she headed down the road towards her hut, each breath practised and purposeful. Susie could already imagine her bunkmates' sympathetic frowns, and they made her want to vomit. She had endured enough of that from her family - those knowing stares, imagining how she must have felt the moment they'd pulled her sister's battered corpse from the rubble - she didn't need that from these people too, these people who knew her less and could only speculate more.

Meatball's nose knocked against her leg as she fumbled for her key, prying open the front door and trying her best not to drop anything. Her efforts were rendered futile, however, as Maeve crashed into her the moment Susie stepped inside, sending her stumbling back a step in surprise.

"Oh my god," She huffed, throwing her arms around her. "Don't scare me like that again!"

"Who are you, my Ma?" Susie almost chuckled, awkwardly bending to put down her bag so that she could hug Maeve in return.

"For a while, she thought you'd been kidnapped," Charlotte shrugged as she crossed the room to join them. Seizing the hand on Maeve's back, she gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was the only acknowledgement of her reality that Susie could stomach.

"And you did nothing?" She teased half-heartedly, peeling herself away from the embrace. "Remind me to never come to you two in an emergency."

Maeve chuckled at this, and opened her mouth to speak. But her words fell on deaf ears as Susie's gaze locked upon her bunk - the sheets clean and freshly changed, a big metal box sitting at the foot of the mattress.

"... What's that?" She asked slowly, cutting off whatever had been said.

But she knew what it was, really. She'd seen a footlocker before.

Charlotte stared at the box with a saddened frown. "It's his."

Susie's brow furrowed. "They're supposed to ship it to his parents."

"He asked them to give it to you."

That was something far heavier - far more real - than she'd expected from him. But perhaps this had always been who DeMarco was. Susie had certainly gotten used to avoiding the truth of him to spare herself from something as wretched as feelings. If only she'd been any good at it.

They took the leash from her without a word, and she tossed her suitcase aside as she reached the bed, staring down at the box, the initials 'B. A. DEMARCO' stamped upon the lid in thick, black letters. To look inside meant more than simply opening the thing. It meant accepting the importance he had imbued upon her by leaving it to her, this token of his identity.

Susie wasn't sure how long she simply stared at it, listening to the thump of her heartbeat as it drummed in her ears - but when she looked up, the room was empty.

The hinges squeaked as she flipped open the lid, swallowing hard at the collection of belongings stuffed inside, scattered in an organised state of chaos that immediately struck her as so quintessentially him.

Tucked neatly amongst the letters and photographs was a folded sweater, and atop the scratchy wool lay an envelope. Susie didn't know his handwriting well, but there was no doubt that this was it, for across the paper were scribbled the words 'To be read by Susie Lamb'.

Her hand trembled as she reached for it, tearing clumsily at the flap until the envelope was practically ripped in two. She'd never seen her name written in his hand before, but the moment she read it, it was as if she could hear his voice echoing through her head, as if he were sitting right beside her.

Hiya Suze

If you're reading this, that means I've gone down - which is unfortunate, to say the least. Hopefully I'm alive in some stinking Nazi prison camp somewhere, but even that's a pretty sad thing to be hoping for.

Either way, if I know you I know you're probably thinking that I'm a goddamn idiot right now for giving you this box instead of shipping it back to my folks. Which is suppose is fair, but I've decided there's some stuff I wanna get off my chest first, and I don't need my Ma reading all this.

I love you, Suze. I don't know if I'll have told you that by the time you end up reading this, but I hope I have. I also don't know if you'll feel the same - you're like if a brick wall had pretty hair or something, so I'm not even gonna try to guess what's going on there. If you don't, feel free to burn this, and I've left my folks' address in here somewhere so you don't have to keep all my shit. But please do me a favour and at least finish reading this thing first.

I think you're the best person I know. I literally can't think of a single other person that I'd trade over being with you. I know that you think deep down you don't really deserve to have people who care about you - I know you feel especially bad about how much I care about you, cuz you're kinda mean to me, but you should know that I never take any of that stuff personal. You're mad about a lotta stuff, but if I ever helped make you feel better, even once, then I think this whole thing has been worth it, really.

You told me once that you're not very pretty, and I swear it's the closest I've ever been to having a full-on goddamn stroke. When I saw you at Charlotte's wedding today I could barely look at anything else - I don't think I heard even a quarter of what that priest was saying. I think you think there's something ugly or broken in you, but Susie I need you to know that I'd happily spend the rest of my life proving to you that that ain't true. Even when you're grumpy or mean or you tell me to shut up (which you do all the time, and I think you're mostly just deflecting) you're never gonna be able to stop me from wanting to be here with you.

There's a chance we'll see each other again after you read this. If this whole thing is coming off as stupid then do me a solid and pretend you never read it. It's very late and I've had a lot to drink tonight. And I don't think I'm very good at being charming even when I'm sober.

I have no idea what's gonna happen to me, but I think a part of me feels okay because I know that no matter what happens up there, you're gonna be safe down here. And you're gonna be okay. I know you hate that you'll never be the same as you used to be, but you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I've only ever met this version of Susie, and I don't think I've ever loved someone better.

I'm yours, Suze, whether you like it or not (although I know you'll tell me to fuck off if you don't, and I promise I'll listen). I don't know how to close this out with anything except that.

I'll see you tomorrow, but I hope future me gets to see you soon too.

Benny.

A teardrop landed upon the end of his signature, the curl of the 'y' blotted beneath the saltwater. Susie hadn't even realised she was crying.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something, break something, because how dare he leave her like this? How dare he make himself so essential to her - give her a place of sanctuary only to tear it away again? Her mind was reeling, stumbling to catch up with everything he'd written, to fully comprehend that someone out there had written these words down and truly, earnestly meant them.

It was hard for Susie Lamb to believe that a man like Bernard DeMarco could love her. But he always made it sound so easy.

'When I saw you at Charlotte's wedding today...'

That had been the night? That day of all days had been the one - the one that clicked something for Benny, that made writing this letter seem all at once of utmost importance. The night she had been judged 'not the marrying type' - too abrasive, too cold to ever be loved and give love the way Charlotte could.

But he'd seen it. He'd known her better than the rest of them, and to him, she was worthy.

Susie never could've written something like this. The admission made her stomach hurt.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Crickets chirped noisily in the grass as a cool afternoon breeze brushed through her hair, sending shivers down her neck. Holding her cigarette to her lips, Susie took a long, deep breath, reaching a hand into the paper bag in her lap. The fields appeared so much larger when she was alone.

"Hey," Charlotte's voice echoed from behind her, clutching her own lunch as she clambered down the grassy slope to meet her. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yeah, sure," She nodded, mouth full as she took a bite of her sandwich.

Charlotte grunted faintly as she crouched down to sit beside her, wedding ring catching the light even beneath the gloomy layer of clouds that hung above them. Susie didn't look at her - just buried her cigarette in the wet dirt, extinguishing it as she sniffed loudly.

"You'll be okay," Charlotte stated after a while. She could feel her stare.

"Not something I've been known to deal with very well."

A pause. "... You mean your sister?"

Now Susie turned, eyes wide and watery. "What d'you know about that?"

Charlotte shrugged. "I know something happened to her. I assumed she died. We've all seen the photo you keep in your truck."

"That's none of your fucking business," She spat before she could think better of it, regretting the words as soon as they left her. Charlotte was unphased.

"You're allowed to make it my business. You don't have to do all of this shit on your own, Susie."

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood as the skin split.

"We've been working together for over two years, it wouldn't kill you to let me in some time. Like you did with him."

"Don't," Susie squeaked, little more than a whisper. "I don't wanna talk about him."

"You should. It'll feel like shit until you do."

"It'll feel like shit anyway. Talking about it just reminds me of all the stuff I should've said to him."

"... Like what?"

"Like I loved him," She sniffed again, wiping her eye with the ball of her palm before the tears that were forming could fall. A half-eaten sandwich was clutched in her hand, but she found she'd lost her appetite.

Charlotte let out a huff of almost-laughter. "Oh, he knew that."

Susie's brow furrowed, the weight of her frown twisting her entire face. "I don't think so. I was bitchy and stubborn, and-"

"Susie." Her voice was soft yet firm, and it shut her up immediately. "He knew that. Everyone knew that."

Her vision had blurred through the tears, an involuntary gasp of laughter escaping her. "You think?"

"You two weren't as subtle as you thought you were, m'love," Charlotte grinned. At this, Susie began to laugh - chuckles coming soft at first, before they began to shake her shoulders, expression contorted beneath the weight of her smile. But somewhere along the way the tears had slipped in too, guffaws slowly giving way to sobs, and before she knew it she was crying against Charlotte's shoulder, tugged closer in a sideways embrace.

"You're gonna be okay, Susie."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was an unusually cold day, even for November, the stink of oil still thick in the air from where the mechanics had burnt it away the night before, tyre tracks cutting through the wet sheen left by the rain across the tarmac. Susie reached for the flask of tea in the passenger seat, taking a long sip as she let the warmth soothe her throat, filling her up from within. Letting out a breath, the air fogged in front of her face, condensation steaming up the windscreen.

"Heya," Maeve chirped as she stepped up to the window, fingerless gloved leaving her fingertips cold and pink as they drummed against the metal, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.

"'Ello," Susie greeted in return, passing her the flask without ever having to ask. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah. Bevan says we're gonna need to get a new .50 caliber in for the Riveters, though."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

Susie sighed, scrounging around in the glovebox for a moment until she found her notebook. "Might take a while. I'll probably have to make a special trip for it."

"I'll come," Maeve shrugged, the suggestion giving her pause. The girl had occupied Susie's passenger seat countless times, but it still felt like his.

"Alright, sure. Thanks for letting me know."

Flashing a smile, Maeve began to walk away, almost skidding on her heel as she did a double take, reappearing at the window fast enough to startle. "Oh! By the way-"

"Jesus Christ."

"- Post came in this morning when you were out. Left yours on your bed."

"Fab. Thanks," Susie nodded, engine roaring as she stirred it awake, the truck shuddering beneath her as she pulled away.

Maeve hadn't been wrong - as Susie returned to their hut a few hours later, a pair of letters were sitting upon her pillow, unopened and untouched, waiting for her to receive them. She gnawed absent-mindedly at the inside of her cheek, tired from a day's work and barely paying attention as she scanned the addresses etched upon the envelopes.

The first came from one of her sisters - Sally or Nancy, although she could never quite tell their handwriting apart, nor could she remember their addresses without checking. Sucking her teeth, she tossed it onto the nightstand, a wordless reminder to read it later before she went to bed.

The second gave her pause.

The envelope was far more battered than the first, corners dulled, ink smudged in places. For a moment she'd suspected one of her brothers - perhaps Ronnie's musings from whichever French town he was currently billeting in. But she knew his writing, and this wasn't it.

Nevertheless, it was certainly familiar...

Brow furrowed, Susie let her curiosity seize her, clumsily tearing at the envelope until the folded scrap of paper came free, unfurling in her palm.

Hiya Suze

The opening line hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs until she couldn't breathe, until she felt ready to keel over and vomit across the polished floor.

She wasted no time with the letter's contents - they could wait for now - her eyes scanning immediately to the end of the page. A choked sob tore free from her throat.

All my love,

Benny

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 8

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |-| Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: An unwelcome face stirs up problems for Susie, and DeMarco struggles with the high stakes of his mission

Warnings: Language, mild violence/injury description, mentions of death

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy @justheretoreadthxxs

Crickets chirped ceaselessly in the fields, their endless chitter whirring away below the constant noise of day-to-day work - humming engines, shouts from one man to another - all merging into the ever-present blanket of noise. Gravel crunched beneath Susie's feet as she walked, bracketed between DeMarco and Egan, scrawling onto her clipboard as they spoke. After receiving so many letters from incensed mechanics, medics, and seemingly everyone else at Thorpe Abbotts, she had given up on relying on the supply lists given to her by command, instead electing to take orders directly.

Bucky held out a hand, counting on his fingers as he listed off everything his boys needed, words cut by the sound of pen against paper as she scribbled down each request. Susie had long grown accustomed to walking and writing simultaneously, yet DeMarco still found his gaze fixed at her feet, paying attention to make sure she didn't trip.

"And how many AN-M30s?"

"Well, we dropped about forty yesterday, so-"

"-I'll just take as many as they'll give me," She shrugged, making a quick note in the margin.

The roar of an engine sounded closer than usual, and Susie glanced up from her jottings as a huge, black Rolls-Royce cruised past, slowing as it approached the command building. She narrowed her eyes slightly at it - the thing looked strikingly... familiar.

"Who's that?" She asked, pointing with the tip of her pen as they continued to walk, managing to keep in step despite her distraction.

"That? Oh, some RAF Marshal come to meet with the Colonel," Egan shrugged, a distinct hint of derision in his tone. "Strategy meeting or something - Jack's been freaked about it all week. Some guy called... Cagney, I think?" He peered across at Benny, who nodded in confirmation.

Susie stopped dead in her tracks, changing pace so swiftly that the other two had made it a couple of feet before realising she was no longer with them. Her jaw was clenched unbearably tight, and she could already hear her pulse thumping inside her head. "... Uh... Suze?" DeMarco asked cautiously.

"You said Cagney, right?"

"... Yeah?"

"As in Air Marshal William Cagney, yes?"

Bucky clicked his fingers, nodding. "That's the fella... Wait, how did you-?"

"Right." Susie nodded firmly, expression immediately soured, and neither man had a chance to question her before she marched straight past them, pressing her clipboard into DeMarco's chest as she stomped across the grass. They exchanged an uncertain glance - neither had ever really heard of the man, but the way her fists clenched at her sides was definitely a bad sign.

Egan paused for a moment. "... Should we?"

"Yeah, yeah, start walking, go," Benny affirmed hurriedly, tailing it after her as swiftly as he could without breaking into a full-blown sprint, anxious to stop her without drawing too much attention. "Suze? Susie!"

Before they could reach her, the Marshal's car rolled to a halt, and DeMarco swore he felt his blood run cold as he noticed her roll up her sleeves. "She's real fast when she's mad," Egan exhaled in despair, the pair appearing frankly ridiculous as they awkwardly galloped after her.

The driver exited the car, circling around to open the door. As the Marshal emerged, his face lit up with instant recognition, a merry expression colouring his cheeks. "Ah! Susan!" Cagney cried, holding out his hands in greeting. "It's been so long, wonderful to see-"

Before he'd even managed to finish his sentence, an almighty crack echoed across the base as Susie's fist collided with his jaw, sending the officer stumbling and falling backwards, eyes wide in horror. For a split second, the world seemed to stand terrible still, before DeMarco and Egan let out simultaneous yelps of alarm, breaking into a run. Benny seized her by the biceps, tugging her back against his chest before she could do any more damage, her glare fixed unwaveringly upon the Marshal as his driver helped him to his feet. He could feel her muscles pulled taught beneath his fingertips, ready to strike again. He'd never quite realised how strong she was until now... it wasn't an unwelcome surprise.

"Now, Susan," Cagney huffed slowly, hands held up in surrender. He spoke as if he were a father scolding a rowdy child, the patronising way in which he looked at her enough to make Benny dislike him. That he looked nearly twenty years her senior didn't help. "If your sister were here, she wouldn't want you behaving like this-"

“If Beatrice was here she’d do the exact same, and you know it. You’re lucky Ronnie’s out the country, n’all - he’ll have your balls when he gets back!" Susie snapped in retort, straining against DeMarco, his vice grip on her possibly the only thing stopping her from ripping the man's throat out. The angrier she grew, the thicker and rougher her accent became - if the situation hadn't been so dire, Benny probably would've smiled at the observation.

"Walk away, Lamb," Egan warned, shaking his head at her as she briefly met his eye. "Just walk it off, c'mon," He urged, and she could tell in his eyes that he was practically begging - he didn't want her to go down for this, he earnestly didn't.

"Suze. Hey," Her shoulder blade bumped against DeMarco's chest, and she felt his breath warm against her neck as he whispered, words only audible to her. "It's okay. It's okay." Colonel Harding had appeared in the doorway, watching the scene with a hard stare, and Benny swore not even the flying had ever scared him like this. "Don't let 'em kick you out over that asshole, eh?"

Beneath his palms, he felt her muscles relax, her shoulders loosen, and he knew she wouldn't hurt Cagney again if he released her. So he did. Susie's glare lingered on the Marshal for a moment before she turned away, heading straight for command, surrendering herself for whatever the consequences of her outburst may be. Without even a second of hesitation, DeMarco was following at her side, walking so closely that their shoulders brushed against one another. Harding's gaze followed her every move, and as Benny held the door open for her, he tilted an imaginary cap to the Colonel.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The conversation inside Harding's office remained muffled and indiscernible from the other side of the door, the corridor outside hanging in tense silence. Susie perched on the bench by the door, waiting quietly like a student about to be led into the headmaster's office. DeMarco sat complacently beside her, hands folded in his lap, foot tapping against the wooden floorboards. Bucky had lingered for a while, pacing the hall impatiently until he absented himself, too worried that he might laugh in Cagney's face if he saw him again, the image of Susie's punch replaying over and over in his mind.

"Yunno... You don't have to stay for this bit," She grumbled, picking at her thumbnail as she spoke, not even registering the action until he bumped his knee against hers, drawing her attention to it as she pulled her hands apart.

Benny shrugged. "Yeah, well. Strength in numbers."

Susie's cheek creased with a lopsided grin, flashing a sliver of teeth as she shook her head, exhaling a huff of amusement. Her fingers drummed against the side of the bench, and as he looked down he noticed that the knuckle of her ring finger had split, a droplet of blood pooling against the pale skin. Wordlessly, he reached for her hand, pulling it into his lap and pressing his thumb firmly against the wound to staunch the bleeding. The first time he'd touched her hand had been the first time they'd danced together - her entire being stiff, loathing every minute as he led her to the floor. But now she didn't even flinch.

"... Who's Ronnie?" He asked. She snorted.

"That's seriously your biggest question about that whole thing?" Susie laughed, a sound he could never tire of. "He's my oldest brother, he's very... protective."

"And where does that asshole in there fit into it?" Benny frowned, tilting his head towards the office, where the Marshal was still speaking with Harding.

She shrugged. "He's my brother-in-law."

If he'd had a drink, he would've spat it out. "That guy? He looks old enough to be your father."

"I think he is," Susie rolled her eyes. "He's also been cheating on my sister Beatrice the entire time they've been married - I dunno where he gets the balls. Fuckin' dickhead."

DeMarco let out a long exhale, nodding slowly as he processed what she was telling him. "... You should hit him again when he comes out, I think."

She chuckled, tittering off into a slow silence as the office door opened and Harding stepped out, frowning at her. Benny rose to his feet in respect, but she scarcely even looked up at the Colonel, slowly turning to face him as if he were somehow intruding.

"Get in here, Lamb," The Colonel sighed. "You're free to go, DeMarco."

"I'll wait, sir," He nodded firmly.

Harding paused, staring at him for a moment. "... Alright, then."

Susie sucked in a deep breath as the office door closed behind her, shoving her hands awkwardly into her pockets as Cagney turned around in his seat to glance over at her, a bruise already blooming beneath his left eye. She fought the urge to smirk, deciding it probably wouldn't help her case.

"Sit down, Commander," Harding drawled, clearly wishing he didn't have to be a part of this. She'd have preferred to stand, but any effort to avoid pissing the two men off further seemed like a good idea.

"Now. You should consider yourself lucky, Lamb - the Marshal here has been generous enough to avoid pressing any charges. You're not gonna have to go through the usual disciplinary channels."

"It's a family affair, really," Cagney shrugged, nodding as if he'd given her a gift of charity.

"Damn right it is," Susie grumbled.

"Lamb," Harding warned, and she held up a hand in surrender.

"So is that it?" She huffed. "Can I go?"

"Well, I'd like to hear you apologise first," The Marshal added, and she could practically hear the smug smile in his voice. Susie turned her head, staring at him for a long, hard minute. The clock ticked away each agonising second up on the wall, the air in the room suddenly twice as thick.

"Please fire me." She addressed the Colonel, not an ounce of humour evident in her tone.

Harding sighed, tilting his head back as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. "What is wrong with you?"

"Susan, I thought we were friends," Cagney frowned. "We took you on that holiday to Devon in '38-"

"-Oh yeah, the one where you ditched dinner to go shag a waitress, that one? And my name's not fucking Susan, you pathetic ballbag," Susie grunted, pushing herself up from her seat and beginning to head for the door.

"Lamb!" Harding barked. She paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. "The apology's the condition. If you don't do it, we've gotta charge you."

Susie's jaw clenched so hard she thought the bone might shatter. Sucking in one long, deep breath, she turned on her heel, mustering a smile so sickeningly sweet it made the two men squirm.

"William, I am so sorry for knocking you on your arse. It was immature. And violent. I truly hope this doesn't spoil whatever date you have planned with your mistress this weekend," She ended with a grin, backing out of the door before Cagney could object.

DeMarco leapt up as she reemerged, striding swiftly down the corridor, never pausing her pace to greet him as she gestured for him to follow. He fell in step, frowning slightly as he glanced between her and the office door. "Are we good?"

"Yeah, I think we're good, but let's leave right now just to be safe," Susie nodded hurriedly, her hand wrapping around his wrist as she tugged him faster towards the door. As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, Benny found himself watching her face, tracing the relief as it made its way across her expression. He smiled.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The truck engine roared as Susie pressed her foot to the pedal, cruising along the runway towards the rows of forts waiting patiently in the fog for their signal. Even with their headlights blaring, it was difficult to see more than ten metres ahead, and she routinely parped the horn every now and then to prevent any would-be pedestrians from getting in their way.

"I mean - Algeria?" Maeve spoke up from the passenger seat, rhythmically tapping the end of her pen against the clipboard resting on her lap. "That's definitely insane, right?"

"Yep," Susie affirmed, gaze fixed on the barely visible tarmac out in front. "Almost as bad as the amount of fuel we've had to scrape together for the fucking trip."

In the back of the truck, crates of bullets and ammunition belts clattered and banged against one another, jostled side to side with each turn and bump in the road. Susie had spent most of the previous day working on getting the drop tanks refilled with the necessary fuel to make it to Algeria, and she'd had to shower three times that night to purge the stench of petrol from her hair. It had been nothing short of a nightmare trying to arrange transport for the myriad of supplies the mission required - so much so that she was almost glad to see the pilots go - to know her work hadn't been for nothing. Almost.

They pulled up alongside the first plane on their route, taking full advantage of the delay to ensure each crew had enough spare ammo for anything the Luftwaffe could throw at them. Headlights still streaking through the fog, the men were little more than silhouettes as they approached, ready to receive their supplies. She and Mave clambered from the truck, rounding to the back as they began to haul out boxes one by one.

"Hey," A gentle hand brushed against Susie's shoulder as she stepped back, a crate in her arms. Turning her head, she found DeMarco standing at her side, but in that moment, she suddenly realised she wasn't pleased to see him. In that moment, she realised she'd been hoping to avoid him altogether.

Susie hated goodbyes - despised the forced sentimentality, detested the unspoken admission that there was even a sliver of possibility that they might not see each other again. It had become alarmingly apparent over the past few weeks that losing DeMarco was growing into a worst-case scenario, a distinct possibility that she had allowed herself to become vulnerable to. Why did he have to be so goddamn nice?

"Hey," She tried to force a smile, but realised one came easily the moment she turned to face him. He reached forward, easing the create from her hands, and she let him take it, passing it on to one of the other members of his crew.

"Can we talk a sec?" Benny asked, hand on her arm guiding her further into the fog as she nodded, stopping once they were obscured from the view of the others. Out in the middle of the runway, they seemed almost in a void, the dense cloud encircling them in a sea of grey.

"Look, Suze," He began, pausing to take a deep breath. "I know we don't say goodbye before missions - we never have - but-"

"You don't have to."

"I want to," He assured her, nodding earnestly. Somehow, the greyness of their surroundings made his eyes appear browner than ever. "Please?"

Susie didn't reply - didn't offer any words in response to his plea. She simply stepped forward, half-collapsing into him as she wrapped her arms around DeMarco's neck, eyes screwed tightly shut as she pressed her chin against his shoulder. He felt so solid, so real, so warm and tangible beneath her hands, a squeeze pressing her body closer against his as he reached around her torso, the back-and-forth rub of his thumb only just perceptible through her jacket.

"I want you to come back," She confessed.

He let out a chuckle, warm breath slipping down the back of her collar. "Yeah, me too," She could hear the smile in his voice, but she felt the way he tightened his grip, too - as if frightened that she'd slip away. Susie adjusted, shrugging her arms further around him, her cheek flush against the side of his neck, stubble tickling her ear. It had been so long since she'd held anyone this tight. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed the feeling until it came time to let go.

If she peeled herself away gently, there was a danger she wouldn't make it all the way - that she'd remember his goodness all over again and be struck by an inability to let go. So instead, Susie tore away in one fell swoop, taking a decisive step backwards as her arms fell to her sides. She could feel him staring at her, feel his gaze on her face, but she couldn't quite bear to meet his eye, her stare fixed on the ground beneath his feet.

"Ah, Suze," He sighed, and she could perfectly envision the twinkle in his smile as Benny stepped forward, his hand reaching out for the back of her neck, pressing a firm kiss to her temple, auburn curls creasing between his fingers. As soon as he'd touched her, he was gone, fading away through the fog as he made for his plane and the crew that awaited him. But she could still feel the push of his lips against her skin long after he disappeared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The air hung thick with the early manifestation of rain, moisture on the breeze clinging to everything and leaving it damp, droplets of water half-forming on the tips of Susie's eyelashes as she leaned back against the bench, breathing in the cool morning. Over an hour had passed since the returning planes had rolled in, carrying the survivors home from Algeria, but the crowds had dispersed as swiftly as they'd arrived, crews hurried off to interrogation before any more could be said. But DeMarco was alive - that much she knew. She hadn't gotten the chance to see him yet, but Meatball had had to be pulled away from the interrogation hut, so hell-bent was he on pawing at the door until his owner came out for him. He was in there.

Susie stared down at the cup of water in her hand, its surface still untouched. She didn't even know why she'd got it. She didn't want it.

A faint creak sounded beside her, and she looked up as Benny lowered himself onto the bench, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. Surveying his appearance, she had to admit he looked terrible. Still dressed in his vest and khaki shorts, the hairs on his arms stood on end in the English cold, the dark crop of hair atop his head dusted lighter with the grains of sand he was yet to shake out. His face was weathered and worn, and she could smell him even at a distance, sweat infused in almost every inch of fabric. She shuddered to think of the stench that must have filled the interrogation hut.

She held the cup out to him, and he took it with a muttered thanks, downing the entire thing in no more than a couple of gulps, throat bobbing with every desperate swallow as he cleansed the film of dirt that had built up on his tongue. He gasped as the last drop slid down his gullet, and they fell into silence, shoulders rising and falling as they breathed steadily in time.

"... My friend died." DeMarco said, tone flat and even as if it didn't mean a thing.

Susie turned her head to look at him, assessing his dull expression. "I'm sorry."

"People keep doing that, huh? Dying."

What could she say to that? It was true. They existed in a vicious cycle of waiting and grieving and replacing, over and over again. Every man hung on by a thread that could snap at any moment - nothing ever seemed permanent except her own existence.

"I'm really not the person to give advice on how to deal with this stuff. Not healthily, at least... But hey, if you ever wanna quit your job and run away from home, I know a guy," She shrugged, her thumb pointed back at herself. DeMarco's gaze followed the movement of her hand, letting out a huff of laughter.

"Y'ain't as bad as you think you are," He shook his head, leaning sideways so that their shoulders bumped against one another's. Susie met his gaze for a moment, lip curling in a sad, gentle smile. "... It was Curt."

"Oh. Yeah, I - I remember him, I think."

"I don't... think he liked you much."

"He didn't."

"But he woulda. If he'd got to know you properly."

She scoffed slightly, chuckling. "You always say that - I think there's a chance I might just be naturally unlikeable to a lotta people."

"Well, I dunno, I've definitely enjoyed the experience - I'd recommend it."

DeMarco was nearly too tired to smirk, but she could see it in his eyes - the amusement and affection were there, even if his muscles were too fatigued to tug at his lip. It was almost embarrassing, the effect Susie felt when he looked at her in his way, her heartbeat slowing, the tension in her bones diminished. She'd always heard people describe the butterflies, the nerves that tugged at the stomach and made the palms sweat. But all she felt was calm.

She'd opened herself up to him - let him know her in ways she wasn't sure even her own family had known or bothered to probe. And in turn, she'd become vulnerable to a dozen different kinds of heartbreak.

Susie raised her hand, palm skimming across DeMarco's forehead as she raked her fingers through his hair, dislodging the grains of sand in a small shower of brown. "You really need a shower," She cringed.

"I really stink, don't I?"

"God, yeah."

He chuckled slightly, tugging her hand away by the wrist as he rose to his feet, beginning the trudge back towards his hut and the warm shower it promised. Before he could disappear around the corner, he glanced back one last time, flashing her a smile.

There were so many ways in which he could hurt her. And so many reasons why he wouldn’t.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 7

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |-| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: On the day of Charlotte's wedding, Susie and DeMarco grow closer than ever

Warnings: Discussions of death, language

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy @justheretoreadthxxs

The scent of someone else's perfume filled the bathroom of the Thorpe Abbotts village hall as Susie stood in front of the mirror, craning her head forward to get a better look at herself and ensure not a single hair had managed to slip out of place. Usually, she couldn't have cared less about such a thing. But today was Charlotte's wedding, and the thought of embarrassing her in any way was mortifying, so today she would play any part that was required.

With a creak, the bathroom door was thrust open, and a pair of women hurried in together, chattering amongst themselves as they reapplied their lipstick in one of the other mirrors. Susie swore she recognised the pair, but out of uniform everyone looked so different. It seemed it should have been easier to pick faces apart when everyone wasn't dressed identically, but she found that her mind was drawing a blank.

Sneaking behind the women and out into the corridor, Susie let out a sigh, arms swinging at her sides as she impatiently awaited the moment that they could finally make their way to the chapel for the ceremony. She'd spent all morning hanging bunting and streamers in the main hall in preparation for the reception, but now it seemed there was nothing left to do but grind her teeth and wait for the time to pass.

"Oi!" A voice hissed from the other end of the corridor, and Susie frowned as she turned, finding Maeve staring at her from the furthest doorframe. Cropped, yellow hair curled beneath her ears, and a maroon dress falling past her knees, she looked wonderful, but her confusion-stricken face gave her pause.

"What?" Susie called.

"What're you doing? Get in here!"

Now it was her turn to frown in uncertainty, hesitantly accompanying her to the end of the hall and pausing in the doorway. Charlotte was stood over by the window, the morning sunlight shining against the silk of her dress, creating a glowing halo around her as if she were some heavenly vision. She turned as Susie entered, a sudden look of relief washing over her. "Oh, Susie, where have you been?"

"I dunno. Just sort of... wandering. Was I supposed to be in here?"

The two women stared at her for a moment, sharing the same slightly dumbfounded expression. "Well. Yeah. Your sisters are married, aren't they? You should be a pro at this by now."

Susie shrugged. "Oh, well, I didn't..."

"Hm?"

"I didn't do the whole bridesmaid thing. They all figured it wouldn't be my thing. I just... sort of went with it."

Neither seemed to quite know how to react to this, frowning sympathetically. Charlotte took a deep breath, crossing the room towards her and taking both of Susie's hands in her own. "Well, I want you here. After all the hours you spent helping me with this dress, don't think you're getting an easy out."

Letting out a chuckle, Susie finally smiled, a grin creasing her cheeks as they flushed a bright shade of pink. For a second she almost hugged her, the sudden urge unfamiliar, but she restrained herself for fear of messing up her hair.

"Alright. Tell me what to do."

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DeMarco stood patiently outside the church, attempting to catch his reflection in one of the stained glass windows as he tugged at his jacket, trying to get it to sit right. He had begrudgingly accepted the nerves that fluttered in his chest, the realisation leaving an odd taste in his mouth as his gaze flitted from the church doors to the end of the path, squinting in the midday sun. A crowd of guests had gathered here, but he was yet to spot a familiar face, the men around him all friends of the groom from the RAF. For perhaps the first time since arriving at Thorpe Abbotts, Benny was alone. Susie couldn't have come fast enough.

"Psst!"

Tearing his eyes from his own reflection, he glanced towards the sound, a somewhat confused smile curling his lip as he spied Susie, carefully making her way towards him as she darted between gravestones, wobbling on her heels slightly in the uneven grass. Pinned back behind her ears, her curls rolled over her shoulders, seemingly redder than ever against the powder blue of her dress, which rippled and swayed with every movement. For a moment he was slack-jawed, unable to form a word of greeting to call out to her until she was standing right in front of him. Her shoulders were relaxed, jaw unclenched. She was smiling. DeMarco had gotten so used to having to coerce a smile out of her that it was almost jarring.

"Afternoon," Susie nodded, brushing something off his shoulder as she came to stand beside him. From the way her gaze lingered at the church door, he could tell they were about to head inside, but in that moment he couldn't quite bring himself to care about the wedding.

"You look... really pretty, Suze," He uttered. Her face reddened almost instantly, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. DeMarco could practically see her fighting the urge to tell him to shut up. But she didn't say it.

One of the groomsmen called from the doorway, and the guests that had been lingering on the grass began to file their way inside towards their seats, ready to finally begin. One by one, he watched them walk past and disappear into the old, stone building, but Susie didn't move an inch. Like the heels of her shoes had been nailed into the ground, she remained wholly still, almost as if she'd forgotten that she was even supposed to be there. He stayed firmly at her side, not saying a word until it became clear that she wasn't moving any time soon.

"... Susie?"

"Haven't been in a church since..." She breathed, so softly it was scarcely audible. DeMarco didn't need to ask what she meant. Feeling a sudden warmth against her palm, Susie glanced down to find he'd taken her hand in both of his, squeezing it with gentle reassurance. She looked back at him, and he swore he'd never seen such softness in her expression before, eyes welling with nothing but warmth, utterly without reserve for the first time.

"This'll be good," He promised. "Yeah?" A smile had begun to worm its way into her expression, the corner of her lip curling upward as she nodded, hand still in his as she turned towards the church door. As they crossed the threshold, he lifted her knuckles to his lips, briefly kissing the skin as a snort of laughter escaped her.

She'd elected to take a seat at the very back - he suspected the idea of being able to make a quick, quiet exit appealed to her. But once they'd sat down, it was only moments before Charlotte arrived, bracketed by her parents as they made their way to the altar, where a grinning RAF officer awaited her. She looked marvellous - the gown was truly a testament to her talent - but as the bride passed, Benny couldn't help but remember that night two weeks ago, when he'd seen Susie in that same dress. Eyes wide, hair wild, bumbling and clumsy beneath the folds of fabric - and yet it struck him then that she had looked infinitely more wonderful to him than anything else he could possibly recall.

Even as the ceremony went on, Susie didn't seem quite capable of settling, drumming her fingers against her thigh and thumbing the pages of the Bible on the shelf in front of her, never once falling entirely still. She was certainly paying attention, but she could scarcely go a few minutes without letting her gaze wander towards the door, as if debating whether or not she could make a successful attempt at escape. Leaning back against the pew, DeMarco stretched his arm out along the back of her seat, softening the hard wood when she rested against it. Wordlessly, Susie leant sideways against him, the movement ceasing in her hands. He smiled, letting his head tilt to the side to briefly tap against hers in silent acknowledgement.

She could feel warmth filling her as she rested against him, and Susie wasn't quite certain if it was more from the press of his body against hers or the rush of blood rising to her cheeks, heart pumping harder, forcing it to move. It was a strange sensation, and one that caught her entirely off guard. How could the simplest of actions put one relationship so drastically apart from all the others? She'd known comfort - known contentment - with so many others before. With her brothers and sisters, with Charlotte and Maeve. Yet it had scarcely felt so simple, like something she didn't have to earn.

How many times had she let her mind wander back to the night of the bombing raid? The night she'd bitten the bullet and finally called her sister, the night he'd first seen her cry, the night he'd held her without ever having to ask. With it pushed back into the past, Susie could finally admit to herself that it had been the safest she'd felt in months - quite possibly years. She hadn't thanked him as well as she should've. She knew that.

When Charlotte kissed her new husband for the first time the guests around them erupted into applause, echoing against the arched stone ceiling above. For a split second, she hesitated, failing to join in until she felt DeMarco's arm retract from its place behind her, freeing up his hands to clap. Once she too joined in, she was as raucous as the best of them, and yet Susie was ashamed - ashamed to think that, if he had not moved, she might not have clapped at all, simply watched in silence as one of the only people to offer her friendship married the love of her life.

When had she become distractable?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The village hall boomed with the swing of the band, the boys who played the officers' club having kindly volunteered their services for the night as wedding guests paired off and danced across the polished floor. Susie's hands were folded behind her back as she stood before the makeshift bar, fingertip tapping out the song's rhythm against her palm as she waited for her turn to order. Next in the queue stood one of the women she'd passed in the bathroom that morning, hair falling in jet-black rolls, red lipstick stark against the paleness of her complexion. The woman seemed to recognise her, turning with a friendly smile, and Susie suddenly realised that she had been one of the ATS recruits from the hut next to hers - although her name still didn't come to her.

"This is great, huh?" She asked with a grin, gesturing across the room. "Charlotte's done such a great job."

Susie nodded along, realising she probably looked shell-shocked as she brought her eyebrows back down her forehead. "Yeah, yeah - it's really great. She's been so excited, I'm just glad it went well," Glancing over to the dancefloor, she spied her friend, swaying side to side in the arms of her beloved pilot. Susie had only met Freddy a handful of times, but he'd always seemed a decent bloke to her.

"Amazing what you can pull together in times like this. Y'know, I'd just love to have something like this someday. Bigger church, maybe, but... you just can't beat a good country wedding."

"Uh, yeah, hundred per cent. Me too, I think."

The other women raised a brow, shooting Susie a questioning look. "Really? I dunno - you never seemed like a marrying type person to me."

Something sank. The bartender handed the woman her wine, and for a moment Susie fought the urge to throw it in her face. She didn't even know her.

"Oh. Um. Well, I dunno - probably."

"That's so cute," The woman tilted her head to the side, and she swore she could've strangled her. "Well, I'll see you around!"

Forcing a strained smile, Susie offered a curt nod, scared to utter another word for fear she might say something regretful. Instead, she waited in pained silence until the woman was entirely out of sight, before stepping up to the bar and ordering two pints, jaw painfully clenched the entire time.

DeMarco was smoking a cigarette outside, the warm glow from inside the hall bathing his back in a yellow light as she approached the open door, a glass of beer in each hand. A puff of smoke escaped his mouth as he turned, expression lighting up as he noticed her arrival, holding out a hand to accept his glass.

"Oh, you're the best," He grinned, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and stomping it out, already moving back towards the door as he spoke again. "Let's head in."

"No-" Susie blurted, halting him in his tracks. "I mean, you can. I'm gonna stay out here for a bit."

"You okay?" He asked, frowning slightly. She nodded hurriedly.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, no - I'm fine. Just... yunno... loud in there, innit?"

Humming in agreement, still visibly sceptical, DeMarco took a sip of his beer, wandering a little further away from the hall and taking a seat in the grass where the sound from inside was muffled. Careful not to spill her drink, she joined him, feet tucked beneath her as she sat cross-legged on the ground.

She wanted to ask him then - do you think I could be the marrying type?

But he would have said yes regardless, just to make her feel better. That wasn't what she wanted.

Her siblings had all done it - had moved away into their happy homes with their husbands and wives and children. Even Ellie had had a boyfriend - and they'd always been suspicious of her brother Owen and his flatmate, John. There had to be a deficiency - nothing else could explain it. If they'd all come from the same place, all lived the same lives, then the only outlier was Susie herself.

The only problem was Susie.

DeMarco clicked his fingers in front of her face, snapping her back to the present. "-you do this thing where I can't tell if you're listening," He said.

"I'm listening," She assured him, although she had no idea what he'd been saying. He was leant back on one elbow, raising his beer to his lips between sentences, clearly in the middle of a story.

"Ok, so then I told Gale-..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing up at her. "You weren't really listening, were you?"

"I'm sorry," Susie admitted earnestly.

Benny shrugged casually. "Don't worry 'bout it, doll. Something on your mind?"

"Oh, no, it's not-"

"Nuh-uh, come on," He urged.

She sighed, before taking a long sip of her drink. "... We're friends, right?"

DeMarco almost choked on his beer, blinking rapidly as he cleared his throat. "Well... yeah. I mean, we're - we're... Yeah, I - I'm your friend, Suze. Course."

"I just... what do you actually like about me?"

He sat up straight, brow furrowed in concentration, taking her question with complete seriousness. "Well, you make me laugh - even when you're mean to me, 'cause I know you don't mean it. And you're smart, and you don't give a shit what anyone else thinks of you. You're brave - you stand up for people when they need it... and even though you're scared of caring about other people, you do it anyway, 'cause I don't think you can help it."

Susie took one long breath after another, fighting to keep her heart rate level and to stop the tears threatening to prick at her eyes. She hadn't noticed as it happened, but whilst he'd been talking DeMarco had absentmindedly reached for her, winding one of her curls around his finger, back and forth, over and over. It didn't seem that he had realised either, for once he finished speaking he dropped it, frowning slightly at himself.

"I do care," She breathed. "About what people think of me... Just not people I don't like."

"And there's a lotta people you don't like."

Susie cracked a smile, a huff of laughter escaping her. "Exactly."

DeMarco grinned. The moonlight bathed him in a blue-tinted glow, his eyes darker than ever and yet still so very gentle. This wasn't the same man his friends seemed to know - not the 'Benny' they yelled for across the pub in the middle of a game of darts, not the daring pilot with his wise-cracking charm.

There were so many ways in which he could hurt her.

And so many reasons why he wouldn’t.

"I like you."

I care what you think.

"I know."

She tilted her glass to her lips, feeling the last few drops of beer slide smoothly down her throat. These weren't their first drinks of the night, and she could feel a distinct sense of fuzziness creeping in, blurring her thoughts together.

"I didn't thank you properly - for the other week. After the raid."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Nah. You don't gotta thank me. I wanted to do that."

"... Yeah?"

"I waited for you, didn't I?"

The corner of her lip curled upwards in a soft, melancholy smile. They hung in silence for a while, a thousand unsaid implications stewing in the air before Susie could think of something to say.

"I, uh. I had to go through my sister's stuff after she died - figure out what to do with it all, y'know. And I found this old diary - I had no idea she kept one, and I still dunno how she kept it a secret when we were all in together like sardines. But there were these pages in the back, all these sums, and - she was shit at maths, right? Just so shit at it, I had to help her with all her homework, she never got it. But she'd done all these calculations, and I was trying to figure it out, and I realised it was all the money she was making from working at the paper shop - she was trying to figure out how long it would take, how much money she'd need to move out and go live somewhere else.

"Except there were all these other numbers that I couldn't understand - and it didn't make sense to me until I found one of my old payslips from working at the cinema. And then I realised... she'd been doing the maths for us both. She always wanted me to come too - she didn't want to leave me behind."

Susie couldn't quite fathom why she was telling him all this - what it meant, what she expected him of all people to take from it. But DeMarco listened nonetheless, a look of utter focus creasing his expression as she took in every word.

"I think when she died it felt like I lost my future too. Like, I didn't even know she'd been planning it, but it always made sense. She was the only person who I always felt like was looking out for me, like I wasn't an afterthought to. And... I'm not mean because I want to be. I'm just angry. All the time. Because she should've been the safest you can get and she still died, and I guess I just didn't see much point afterwards. So I found other stuff to be angry at - stuff I could actually do something about."

He said nothing, just stared up at her, something indiscernible to her in his eyes.

"... Shit, do I sound like an insane person now?"

"No!" DeMarco bolted upright from where he had been reclined slightly against the grass. "No - no, not at all, Suze," Lifting a hand to her face, he swept her hair to the side, fingers combing through her curls as he leant forward to press his lips to her temple.

Susie wasn't quite certain what had come over her, but the moment he was close enough she reached out, wrapping her arms around him and collapsing against his chest, chin tucked into the crook of his neck. He returned the embrace without a word, sucking in a long breath as he stretched his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight.

"Sorry, I'm like a... fucking basket case who's not very fun to hang out with," She joked, voice muffled against his collar. As she let out a slight huff of laughter, he felt the warmth of her breath against his neck, his body momentarily tensing.

"Susie. I am so uninterested in hanging out with anyone who isn't you."

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 11

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 |-| Chapter 12

AO3

Warnings: Angst :( give it a rest man

Word Count: 3.1k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy @justheretoreadthxxs @ginabaker1666

22nd December, 1940.

A gentle hand on Susie's shoulder shook her awake, curls splayed messily across the pillow as she let out an exhausted groan, squinting in the morning light. "C'monnn," Ellie drawled, a tinge of humour in her tone as she yanked at her sister, jolting her back and forth as the bed frame creaked beneath them. They'd shared this double bed up in the attic since they were little girls, crammed in like sardines in a house too small for its inhabitants. But even now that they were some of its only residents, it felt wrong to spread out, the repetition of one another's breathing essential to soothe them to sleep.

"Jesus Christ," Susie huffed, rolling onto her back, arm shielding her face as she pushed herself up to sit. Ellie was kneeling on the mattress beside her, already half-dressed in her factory uniform.

"Scoot. I'm gonna be late for work."

Letting out another groan, she clambered out of bed, exposed floorboards coarse beneath her feet as she padded across the room towards the ladder. "Well, you could fucking walk. Bright idea."

Ellie blew a raspberry behind her. "Don't wanna," She could envision her inevitable shrug. "You drive for a living, least you could do is gimme a lift."

Susie shook her head slightly, letting out a sigh as she clambered down out of the attic. "Ma making breakfast?"

"Eggs."

Their mother was standing at the stove as the pair emerged downstairs, stirring a cast iron pot, six boiled eggs bobbing in the bubbling water. "Morning Ma," "Morning Ma," They echoed one another, each pressing a kiss to the woman's cheek as they passed to take their seat at the table. It was small, crowded with too many chairs, mismatched stools clustered around the corners never mimicking how significantly their household had diminished over the years. Once upon a time, they had sat ten people at this tiny table - now only three remained.

"Cheers," Susie uttered with a smile as her mother passed over her plate, two eggs wobbling unbalanced on the flat porcelain beside a slice of buttered bread. The two girls ate in silence, tearing at the shells with their fingernails. One of the neighbours had taken to keeping chickens in the courtyard, the creatures pottering around and squawking at odd hours of the night - a steady supply of eggs ensured no one ever complained about the disturbance.

A sudden yank at Susie's scalp made her yelp in surprise as her mother tugged apart the knots in her curls. "Ma!" She cried, speaking around a wad of half-chewed toast, head rocking backwards with another pull. "I can do that myself!"

"Ach, I know. But you're gonna make your sister late for work if you don't get a move on."

"That's what I've been tellin' her, Ma," Ellie nodded in self-satisfaction, letting out a gasp as Susie tore off a piece of crust and lobbed it across the table at her face.

"Actin' like children, the both o' yous," Their mother chided, half-heartedly whacking Susie across the shoulder as she returned to the stove to retrieve her own food, the pair pulling faces at one another the moment her back was turned.

They finished their breakfasts at the same moment, leaping to their feet and uttering identical 'Bye Ma's, the ceiling thundering above as they scurried back up to the attic. Ellie dragged a brush through her hair, scraping it back into the tightest ponytail she could manage as Susie pulled on her uniform, buttoning her shirt up to the collar and securing her tie the way their brothers had taught her.

Her truck was parked down the street, doors slamming noisily as the pair clambered inside, starting up the engine with a roar. Tugging down the visor mirror, Ellie groped blindly for the radio dial as she made sure her hair was perfectly in place, the music coming through so loudly and suddenly that they both let out a yelp at the sound.

"Fucking christ," Susie muttered, scrambling to turn the volume down. "Watch what you're doing."

"One of us has to look presentable, at least," Her sister chirped.

"Bitch."

"I'm going to Kerry's tonight, by the way," Ellie continued, purposely ignoring the insult. "Her house is right outside the factory, so me 'n some of the girls are gonna hang around after work. Probably won't see you later."

"You know where the nearest shelter is at Kerry's?"

"Yes, mother," She drawled. "We'll be grand, it's right close."

"Alright then. I'll let Ma know."

Pulling up outside the factory, Ellie reached across the seat to press a peck to Susie's temple, giggling as her sister wiped it away with a false grimace. "Love you, see you t'morrow."

"See ya," Susie nodded with a smile. She watched Ellie climb out and walk away for a moment, before another thought struck her. "Oi! I'm callin' Owen later - d'you want me to pass anything on?" She yelled, rolling down the window.

"Ask 'im if them posters are tellin' the truth about carrots, cuz I won't eat them if they're not. Oh! And tell 'im I love him, too!" Ellie called, blowing a kiss for their brother as a grin creased her cheeks, offering a wave like a parting child on her first day of school before she disappeared through the doors.

A smile lingered on Susie's expression long after her sister was gone, pulling hard on the handbrake as she restarted the truck, trundling away down the road.

Come morning, the entire street would be rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

October, 1943

Beatrice brought her lip between her teeth, eyes narrowing at the folded newspaper in her lap as she wracked her mind for the answer to the morning crossword, her hand reaching blindly towards the nightstand in search of coffee. Raising the cup to her face, an abrupt ring of the doorbell caught her by surprise, sloshing the brown liquid and leaving a trail of spattered stains across fresh, white bedsheets.

"Fuck me," She muttered, a familiar Northern twinge piercing her practised cadence. Scrambling up from the bed, Beatrice wiped at the coffee stain with her palm for a second, before letting out a huff as her efforts revealed themselves to be utterly futile. She threw her hands up in despair, marching irritably down the stairs as the bell rang once more. "Yes, yes, I'm coming, I'm coming."

Swinging open the door, she pressed herself against it, as if the panel of wood could hide the fact that she was still in her pyjamas and rollers past eleven in the morning. Today was just one of those days.

"... Susie?"

Her sister passed her weight anxiously from foot to foot, staring up at her as she waited halfway down the front steps, clearly trying not to appear desperate. It wasn't working. Her hair was little more than a pile of frizz, shirt crumpled so thoroughly that it had creases in places she hadn't thought possible. Her eyes were red as she gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Beatrice found herself making eye contact with a huskie as it peered up from between Susie's legs.

"Who's... dog is that?"

"Mine," Susie stated, clearly trying to even out the tremor in her voice.

"What're you doing here?"

"I, uh," She sniffed, scratching casually at her brow as she glanced up and down the street. "Someone I, uh... cared about - went down yesterday. Fuckin' me up a bit I guess, but it's nothing, really. Happens all the time, people die all the time, don't they? You must have that too with your job, I bet. People dying. Oh! Your husband came by the base the other week. Knocked him on the arse, got him right in the jaw - thought you'd like that, given that he's a knob-"

Susie was cut off as the air suddenly left her lungs, the sudden impact of Beatrice crashing into her knocking the wind from her body. She had hurled her arms around her, enveloping her in an iron grip, face buried in her unwashed hair.

"Oh, Susie," She sighed without the usual condescension.

Susie's chest felt like it was about to burst, the pressure like an elastic band about to snap as she blinked rapidly to fend off tears. She managed no more than a single, strangled breath before letting out a sob, eyes welling up so fast she was practically blinded, balling the fabric of her sister's shirt in her fists. Beatrice squeezed tighter, if possible - the action itself catching her off guard. She'd expected her to usher her inside away from the neighbours' eyes, or something equally self-conscious. But she didn't. Feet planted squarely on the front steps, Beatrice ran her hand up and down along the length of Susie's back, uttering a gentle 'shhh' with each sob.

"Can I..." Susie managed between breaths, "Can I stay with you?"

Beatrice took a deep breath, pulling back to look her over with a frown. "... Susie-"

"Sorry-"

"No. You don't have to ask me for help."

She fought the urge to burst into tears again, digging her teeth into her lip so hard she almost drew blood as she nodded. "Ok."

"C'mon," Beatrice pushed the door open further, Meatball's claws skittering against the polished hardwood as he dashed inside, happy to be somewhere warm again. Susie could've wept from relief. Instead, she simply followed silently inside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The kettle squealed upon the stove as it came to boil, and Susie watched the steam pour from her spot on the couch, feet tucked beneath her, curled up against the arm as if trying not to take up space. She was dressed in some of Beatrice's pyjamas - her sister had always been taller and thinner than her, and they seemed the only clothes that fit - and Meatball had curled up in a sunny spot upon the rug.

"You took the dog on the train?" Beatrice's voice rang from the kitchen.

"Lots of people take their dogs on the train," She shrugged. Not that you'd know. She was fairly certain her sister had risen above the social classes that dared use the Underground.

Beatrice didn't respond to this, carrying a cup of tea in each hand as she sat down in the opposite armchair and held one out to Susie.

She took a short sip, the freshly boiled water immediately stinging her tongue. "So... how long's it been since you've seen him?"

"My husband? Oh, um. A month? Five weeks?"

Susie was unable to stop the bubble of anger within her at even the mention of the Marshal - even when he wasn't present, she found she wanted to punch him. "Dickhead."

"I don't really mind anymore. I'm rich and independent, it's not exactly a hard life."

"You poor thing. Ronnie'll still bust his kneecaps when he gets back."

"Oh, obviously."

They both smiled at this for a moment, Susie letting out a huff of amusement. But her mind couldn't wander for even a second without pulling her back towards the reason for all of this - the reason why she was here. Her expression fell, staring down at the ripples in her cup, vision blurring out of focus slightly.

"So..." Beatrice sighed.

"I think he's dead."

"... What was his name?"

"Benny," She stated. The nickname felt so sweet, so endearing - and yet so utterly foreign. Because she'd never called him Benny before - not to his face, not even out loud. She'd stopped calling him anything, really. He had become such a constant presence that there had ceased to be a need. There was nothing to address when he was simply always there - always standing beside her, waiting to listen without the need for introduction.

"He wouldn't happen to be the guy you called me about when you broke down in the middle of nowhere a few months ago, would he?"

Even in her melancholy, it was impossible not to smile at that memory. "Yeah. He was."

"I was just amazed you remembered my number."

I didn't. Yours is the only number I keep written down, the only one I carry with me wherever I go - and I don't fucking know why.

"Well. Pays to have friends in high places, I s'pose."

Maybe you're the only one of them I can talk to without feeling like an idiot. You're blunt and you're mean and it's how I know you take me seriously.

Beatrice seemed to contemplate for a long moment, chin resting in her palm as she stared back at her sister.

"Did you love him?" She asked.

"Oh, yeah," Susie nodded, alarmed at how quickly the confirmation came for her. She'd never admitted that out loud before - she wasn't sure she'd properly admitted it to herself.

"... Did he know?"

She wanted to throw up.

"... Not really."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Time passed differently at Beatrice's house - slower, more gracefully, the minutes slipping away so gradually that Susie never seemed to be scrambling for them. Bare feet sank into the plush carpet as she padded back and forth across the living room, steam from her tea fanning her cheeks as she held it to her lips.

She had been here for three days. Three days, and it finally seemed long enough to get to know the place. She was almost embarrassed by how little she recognised of this house - how poorly accustomed she was to it, proof of how little she'd dared come here. But now it was becoming familiar. She made her own tea in the morning - she could talk Meatball for a walk and find her way back without trouble.

Was this the life Ellie had always envisioned for them? The two of them living together in a nice place like this, going on with their lives in tandem, overlapping in that shared, unspoken comfort.

Except she wasn't living this with Ellie. She never would. And yet, she couldn't quite make herself grieve that. Because she was still here, living in serenity with her sister.

She'd just never expected it to be Beatrice.

Watching the traffic pass outside the window, Susie was caught off guard by the sudden far-away hum of a piano, rolling out one note after another with practised precision, the tune sweet and flawless to her ears.

Crossing the house, the leant up against the doorway, watching the back of Beatrice's head as she played her song. Her fingers danced across the keys as if she were a part of the instrument herself, barely having to watch her movement, muscles responding without even having to think. She wasn't just good - she was excellent. Susie could vaguely remember watching her play at school once, back when they were children. But she'd never played this well.

When the song found its end, Susie took a sip of her tea, clearing her throat.

"I thought you didn't play anymore."

Beatrice shrugged.

"I got back into it a few years ago."

They didn't know each other anymore. The realisation hurt more than she'd expected.

Her sister stood up from the piano stool, shaking out her hands. "So. How long until I have MPs at my door demanding I return you to your job, huh?"

It was Susie's turn to shrug. "Haven't taken a day of holiday in almost three years, I think it's stacked up."

Beatrice sighed.

"You haven't had a Christmas since Ellie died, have you?"

"Nope," She took another sip of tea, as if it were as nonchalant a statement as what kind of sandwich she wanted for lunch.

She would've had a Christmas this year. DeMarco would've insisted.

"If you want me to go, just say the word," Susie offered.

But she had realised the moment she'd watched Beatrice play that she wouldn't ask her to leave. She had underestimated how lonely her sister had become, and the truth made her chest ache. Did her husband know she was playing again? Did their siblings? Did anyone?

She took a seat on the piano stool, and Beatrice sank to sit beside her without prompt. Sucking in a deep breath, Susie wrapped her arms around her sister, laying her head against her shoulder, close enough to hear her heart beat.

"... I can't remember the last time we were all together," Beatrice admitted quietly. "At some point, it was the last time all eight of us were ever in a room together, and I can't remember it."

Her words felt like a kick to the gut.

"... I think it might've been your wedding."

Beatrice scoffed, lifting a hand to wipe her cheek. "God, that'd just be fucking typical, wouldn't it?" She chuckled for a moment, a distinct edge lining her voice that made Susie worry she might cry. "I think if I could go back and undo all this shit, I would. I'd stay at home with you and Ellie and I'd find someone... kind."

"I'm not leaving your house until you divorce that bastard," Susie said, voice muffled against Beatrice's shoulder.

She shook her head slightly, rubbing an affectionate hand along Susie's arm. "Suze-"

"Bea." Susie interrupted sternly, lifting her head to meet her eye. "I'm fucking serious."

Beatrice let out a sigh, raising a hand to stroke Susie's hair away from her face in precisely the same motion their mother always used. Her lips pressed together in a thin smile. "I love you."

She leant into her palm, pressing herself against the warmth. "I love you too."

"... Tell me about Benny."

A part of her didn't want to. A part of her wanted to keep him for herself - to preserve his memory the way she had seen him, solely for her eyes. But another part wanted to sing his praises from the rooftops - to never let anyone forget who he was and how he'd changed her. That part was stronger.

"He was... always better to me than I deserved. I was mean and insincere and stubborn and he was never anything but good. And earnest... He was kind."

"And you don't get what he saw in you," Beatrice tittered. "Because you don't see anything in you."

"I didn't deserve him-"

"Yes you did."

Susie had nothing to say to that.

She squeezed her sister tighter.

"We both deserved someone good."

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 5

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |-| Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: A nearby air raid forces Susie to confront the past

Warnings: Drinking, alcohol, death/description of dead body, angst again yayyyy

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

The band was in full swing, the sound of Egan's terrible singing almost drowned out by the overlapping din of music and conversation that filled the officers' club, the flight crews toasting another successful mission. Susie couldn't recall what the mission had been about - she wasn't even sure anyone had told her in the first place. She'd gotten used to taking Meatball without question and going about her day - what the pilots did never affected her, save for the faint sense of anxiety that had begun to permeate her during the hours they were away. It was unnerving.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me," Maeve huffed, eliciting a proud laugh from Charlotte as she forked over another fistful of the peanuts they'd acquired from the bar to act as poker chips.

"Call it a punishment for being so young and sprightly," Charlotte shrugged, a smug grin curling her lip as she took her share. They had acquired a table in the back corner of the club, far from the dancing but comfortably close to the alcohol, Charlotte's huge engagement ring and Susie's resting-bitch-face a foolproof deterrent to protect them from any unwanted attention.

"She's just jealous, Maeve - her freedom's running out, and she's taking it out on us," Susie smirked, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table to refill their glasses. It was a recurring joke among the women - that Charlotte's engagement had only been dragged out as far as it had because she secretly dreaded being 'tied down', dreaded losing her individuality and becoming one of those stereotypical housewives, like the girls Susie had never gotten along with growing up. It was all in jest. Her sisters were married, and most were decently happy. But it had never been a future Susie had been able to picture for herself, and maybe that was why she felt the need to poke fun.

"Ha-ha," Charlotte drawled sarcastically, and Maeve let out another sigh of despair as she turned over another card. "You'll be the only ones showing up to the wedding alone with that attitude - two old spinsters in the back."

The sound of whimpering distracted the group from their petty bickering as Meatball padded over, resting his head dramatically in Susie's lap, ear twitching against her thigh. As she reached for a couple of the peanut-poker-chips, tossing them into the dog's waiting mouth, the other two let out cries of annoyance, and Maeve hunched over the table, beginning to try and count how many remained.

"Ladies," From behind her, DeMarco approached, drink in hand as he surveyed the state of their table - peanuts scattered all over the place, interspersed with an almost-empty bottle of wine and several glasses, their playing cards tattered and stained. The game was a mess, entirely indecipherable to anyone except the three of them.

"Your dog's eating our poker chips," Charlotte stated dryly.

"Susie's fault!" Maeve added, reaching over to scratch behind Meatball's ear.

"Oh, I'm sure," He nodded, smirking faintly as he lifted his glass to his lips. His other hand rested on the back of Susie's chair, fingers occasionally brushing against her back when she moved.

Susie stared down at her hand of cards. Her gaze had not shifted to look at him since the moment he arrived. "Thought you usually dance at these things. Why don't you go ask... Gwen, or someone. She'd probably say yes."

"I don't wanna dance with Gwen," Benny shrugged. "I came over here to see if you'd dance with me."

Maeve's brow raised, shooting Susie a pointed look, but she didn't notice, playing her turn. "Can't. Busy."

He peered over her shoulder at the cards in her hand. She was losing. Badly, in fact. "... I can see that."

Charlotte stared across at him, noticing the way his brow furrowed, frown deepening slightly as he noticed Susie's hand. "DeMarco has a terrible poker face."

"Oh, dammit!" Susie huffed, turning sideways in her chair to whack him across the arm with her cards. With a stubborn frown, she tossed her cards down onto the table, and Maeve let out a sigh of relief at the game's sudden ending. "Enjoy your peanuts, Charlotte. I hope your wedding sucks."

Standing up from her seat, she came face to face with DeMarco, who appeared slightly appalled at her last remark. "Jesus, sore loser much?"

"Wouldn't have lost if you could keep a straight face."

"I don't think anything could've saved you there, sweetheart," He admitted as she reached for her wine, pouring the last of the red liquid down her throat. It clearly wasn't her first glass - the slight flush in her cheeks could attest to that - but she was holding it well, her aggression no more irrational than usual.

"So?" DeMarco prodded.

"So... what."

He put his empty glass down on the nearest table, holding out his hand for her to dance. Susie hesitated for a moment before letting out a scoff, rolling her eyes as she took his hand in hers, letting him lead her towards the dancefloor.

"You know I hate dancing," She pointed out somewhat bitterly.

"You hate most things. And you're a nice dancer."

"God, I don't like you."

"See, that’s just not true," DeMarco grinned. "Hurtful. But not true."

Susie couldn't stop herself from smiling, looking down at her feet as they moved in time with the music. "There she is," She could hear the smirk in his voice and tilted her head back up to face him, biting her lip to stop a chuckle as she refused to meet his eye. He was staring. She could feel it, resisting the urge to squirm.

"Stop it," She shook her head, pushing against the palm that held hers.

"Stop what?"

"Staring."

That boyish grin never wiped itself from his expression as he tilted his head sideways to get a better look at her. Susie couldn't reciprocate his gaze, not when he looked at her like that, turning away as a nervous chuckle escaped her throat. DeMarco felt her grip on his hand slip, and was about to speak again when a sudden interruption sounded.

"Come on everybody! Bike race in the mess hall! Who's in?"

The very moment the invitation was issued, the crowds began to disperse, couples fleeing the dance floor in a dash to the door, their ranks thinning by the second. Susie pulled away, hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back. "That sounds like your cue, DeMarco."

His hand was still raised where it had been when she'd held it, and as she turned away to find her friends, he let out a long sigh. "...Damn it all."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She found Charlotte and Maeve halfway along the path to the mess hall, a new bottle of wine in Charlotte's hand as they passed it between themselves, sipping straight from the neck. Susie stepped in seamlessly, announcing her arrival by tugging it from Maeve's grip, the tart liquid running smoothly down her throat.

"Thought you were off with your pilot," Charlotte teased, stealing the bottle as soon as she was done.

"He's racing. I'm babysitting again," She raised Meatball's leash, and Maeve let out a slight gasp of delight as she noticed the dog trailing along beside them, tail wagging in satisfaction.

DeMarco dragged his bike into position beneath the mess hall lights, shouldering for space among the crowd of pilots, pressed together so tightly he barely had room to pedal. Buck and Bucky had pushed their way to the front, exchanging grins with him as they passed, and all around the edges of the room spectators pressed themselves up against the wall, waiting anxiously for the race to begin.

His gaze searched the crowds distractedly, not quite attuned to the announcer's instructions as he searched for Susie among them. When he spotted her, he couldn't help but let out a laugh, drawing the confused stares of the men beside him. She was stood in the far corner with her friends, cradling Meatball in her arms like a giant baby so that he wouldn't get underfoot and trip any of the cyclists in all of the excitement. Her head was turned away from him, talking to Charlotte, but every now and then one of the other women would raise the wine bottle they were sharing up to her lips, a red droplet running down her chin where it missed.

Maeve must have told a joke, for Susie suddenly began to laugh, nose scrunched, eyes screwed tightly shut. The sight made him smile, and the sudden bang! of the starting pistol startled him, pushing off with a clumsy start and almost knocking over the man beside him as the race began.

Her expression contorted into momentary horror as DeMarco seemed to almost crash before even crossing the starting line, but he quickly found his footing, and her friends let out cheers of encouragement as the men zipped past, navigating the twists and turns with reckless abandon. Meatball let out a howl, mimicking the whooping of the crowd, and she laughed, the wine beginning to go to her head.

All three of them had begun to go red in the face, everything seemingly far funnier than it had been an hour ago. And as Cleven and Egan screwed it up on their final corner, their bikes taking a tumble, knocking down the cyclists behind them in turn, it suddenly seemed one of the funniest things they'd ever seen, tears brewing in Susie's eyes as she let out a cackle of laughter.

DeMarco had just managed to avoid the crash, wheeling to a stop and a long, sobering siren split the air. The energy in the room didn't seem to dissipate for a moment, realisation about what was happening encroaching slowly, but the sound had ripped Susie out of her somewhat-drunken haze instantly, a sudden nausea bubbling in her stomach.

Her gaze darted wildly across the room, waiting for the rest of them to notice, to get up and move. It wasn't until Charlotte shot her an unnerved glance that she realised her breathing had quickened, coming sharp and ragged, panic clearly visible in her expression.

"It's ok, we're good," She assured her, a hand on her arm as she put Meatball down, his claws skittering against the linoleum. "Let's go, yeah?"

Susie nodded firmly, making a beeline for the door just as the situation seemed to become apparent to the rest of the room, the cyclists collecting their bikes and calmly departing for the air raid shelters. Leaving the warmth of the mess hall and stepping out into the cool night air seemed to make it easier to breathe, panic beginning to subside as she took in their surroundings - the squat Nissen huts, the rolling countryside in the distance.

This wasn't the city. This wasn't home. No one was out to get her here.

But then she reached the top of the stairs to the shelter. Staring down at the dark doorway, she couldn't take that next step, couldn't descend below ground level to wait it out.

"You take Meatball and go down," Susie turned to Maeve, pressing his leash into her hand. "I'll come in a minute."

"Okay," Her friend nodded, looking up at her with concern as she took the dog down the steps, disappearing into the shelter with the others. People flooded past as she pushed against the tide, pulling away from the crowd and stepping back into the grass.

The sky lit up with dozens of colours, explosions of flame and flak smoke like blots of watercolour against the clouds. The hum of engines and the rattle of anti-aircraft guns were far from unfamiliar sounds to Susie's ears as she sat down on the lawn, pressing her hands into the grass, tethering herself to the knowledge that it was different here - that they weren't the target.

She'd been awoken by these sirens so many times before, listening to the rustle of bedsheets beside her as Ellie scrambled awake, shaking her shoulders until she got up. Susie couldn't even remember why Ellie hadn't been home the night they'd killed her. All she remembered was sitting in the shelter with her mother, and the blinding daylight as they reemerged the next morning.

"Hey," A voice broke her train of thought, tugging her gaze from the planes that circled above like moths to a flame. The woman standing above her was dressed in a WAAF uniform, frizzy brown hair falling to her shoulders, an unlit cigarette between her lips. She recognised her, but she couldn't quite pinpoint who she was.

"Hi," Susie nodded, brow furrowing slightly as the woman sat down beside her. She stared at her for a long moment, watching the way flickers of orange light flashed across her face as the fighting continued above.

"... You're the mechanic, right?"

The woman smiled, holding out a hand to her. "Frankie."

She accepted, shaking it gingerly. "Susie."

Frankie nodded, and Susie accepted a cigarette as she held the box out to her. "Not many people 'round here with an accent like yours."

"Manchester."

"...Ah," She let out a long sigh, clearly piecing things together immediately. "I got friends in Coventry."

"Everything's a shitshow," Susie huffed, lighting her cigarette, and Frankie let out a low hum of agreement, leaning back on her elbows.

"We're okay out here, though."

"My sister... Got a sister in London. One of the plotters. She'll be all over this."

"My friend George takes their telegrams."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Susie suddenly realised she was still carrying the half-empty bottle of wine, too consumed by panic at the mess hall to have bothered putting it down.

"... You want some?" She offered, holding it out to Frankie.

"Oh, thanks," She smiled, tipping it by the neck and taking a long sip. Susie couldn't stomach the idea of drinking anymore. She didn't reach for it back, and Frankie didn't pass it.

Sucking in a long, tight breath, Susie lay back, feeling the damp grass against her scalp. 'My sister...' She'd almost told her. A complete, utter stranger, and she'd almost let it slip. She almost told everyone these days. Ellie's body had been dragged out from the rubble, pale and battered and limp, but it hadn't been her. Not truly. Her body was an empty vessel - whatever had truly been her had slipped away the moment her head caved in. It seemed as if every room she entered now, she brought with her a silent cry of ‘Have you seen my sister?’, a quiet search for her soul in the eyes of others.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It lasted just less than an hour. As soon as the planes had arrived, they were gone again, the sky falling flat and black, the buzzing silenced. Frankie had said something to her before she left, but Susie hadn't been listening. When she looked up, the mechanic was gone. So was the wine.

Her watch had just ticked past midnight by the time she sat up, smoothing down her damp hair with one hand as she rose to her feet. Something bubbled within her, something caught in her throat that made her feel all at once about to vomit and about to weep. She took a deep breath, watching as people began to clamber out of the shelter across the lawn. DeMarco was with them, a part of the dispersing crowd of spectators, and even through the darkness, he caught her gaze, a frown creasing his brow. They drifted towards each other as they walked, meeting halfway.

"Where were you?" He asked. "You were supposed to be in the shelter."

"So were you," She huffed. He could tell something was bothering her. She reached up to scratch her nose every other second, an incessant, phantom itch that she couldn't conquer. "D'you have a phone?"

"... Are you ok?"

"Fine. Just need to call someone."

DeMarco frowned, watching her expression keenly. "There's one in the officers' club. I'll walk you over."

She was surprised the place was still open, the door hanging slightly ajar, left open as its inhabitants had hurried to find shelter. The bulbs buzzed as he flicked the lights on, showing her over to the bar where a phone waited on its hook. He hesitated for a moment, watching her hand twitch as she tried to remember the number, the dial rattling as she turned it. Susie looked up at him, and he took it as his cue to leave, the door closing behind him with a click as she was left alone, glancing around at the half-finished drinks and still-smoking cigarette butts that littered the room as she waited for the other person to pick up.

An irritated groan sounded on the other end of the line, and she could hear the rustling of sheets as she waited to speak.

"Hello? What is it?" Beatrice huffed, sleep lining her voice.

"Hey. It's me."

"Susie? What do you want?"

Her sister always had such a way with pleasantries. "Just watched a raid over... Norwich, I think. I was wondering if... if you knew anything?"

"Wasn't my shift," She replied curtly. Susie could picture her now, half sitting up in bed, rollers in her hair as she leant against the headboard, scowling.

"Oh, right," She paused, mentally scrambling for something to say before Beatrice hung up. "Is your husband there?"

"No. Staying in his flat, probably with his girlfriend."

"... Ah."

It was quiet for a moment, before she heard her sister let out an irritated huff. "What do you actually want, Suze? I know you don't care about bloody Norwich."

Beatrice's accent had changed since she'd left Manchester - she'd married rich, and she'd made sure she had something to show for it. But whenever she got annoyed, that familiar northern drawl seeped back through.

"I was just... I dunno, I needed to talk to someone."

"You were thinking about Ellie, weren't you?" Beatrice asked. The silence stretched out between them, and it was all the answer she needed, letting out a sigh. "You've gotta get unstuck, Suze. You can't live like this forever."

"I'm not stuck," She replied indignantly, brow furrowed.

"Yes. You are. None of us ever saw you cry after it happened - you never felt it like the rest of us, you never let yourself move on."

Susie bristled, suddenly defensive. "I'm just not like you - I was always braver than the rest of you."

"No, that's the opposite of what you are," Beatrice thundered. "You're a coward, Susie - you don't ever move on with your life because to do that you've gotta feel something other than fucking angry. You were there when they found Ellie and I know the rest of us weren't, I know it's different. But stop making that everyone else's fucking problem and just deal with it."

"She was my-"

"She was my little sister too! But so are you! I'm sick of listening to you make excuses for why you just wallow in it - it's been years since I've seen you not miserable, and it's your own fault. You know I love you. And I'm only being like this because everyone else in our family is much too bloody nice. But get over it, Susie."

She'd been gnawing at the inside of her lip the entire time she'd been listening to Beatrice speak. With a hiss, Susie realised she'd broken the skin, a droplet of blood pooling in her mouth, coating her tongue with a sour, metallic flavour.

She wanted to snap - a thousand cruel words poised on her tongue, a hundred things to hurl back at Beatrice. But not one would have made her point any less true. Tears were forming in her eyes, blotting out her vision until she could barely see an inch in front of her face. Susie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling them roll down her cheeks, leaving warm, wet trails in their wake.

"Susie?" Beatrice's voice came tentatively, and she realised it had been a few minutes since she'd uttered a sound.

"Goodnight, Beatrice," Her voice came firm, hanging up before her sister could reply.

Suddenly the silence in the officers' club was too much to bear. She felt as if she were about to explode, the hot sting of tears in her eyes, the sudden, painfully breathlessness in her throat all too foreign, too frightening. Susie opened her mouth to suck in a breath, a hoarse, choking sound ripping through her, the air getting stuck before it could reach her lungs. She felt her expression contort in anguish, and the first, involuntary sob broke free. Once the floodgates opened, they couldn't close, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to catch a breath, fumbling blindly as she crossed the room to the door, desperate to be anywhere else.

The door to the officer's club swung open easily, and Susie stormed out into the night, chest heaving up and down over and over as she sobbed, hands trembling. She turned her head, caught off guard just long enough for a sob to catch in her throat, coming out as a hiccup as she spotted DeMarco, throwing up her hands in frustration. He'd been leaning up against the wall as she came out. He had waited for her.

"Susie? Hey," DeMarco hurried forward, expression twisted in worry. He reached for her hands, thumbs rubbing against the backs of her palms. His voice was so incredibly gentle, more than she'd ever heard it. "Hey, c'mon."

Susie's lip trembled, and she let out a croak as she fought to catch her breath, heart beating too fast for her body. He sighed, letting go of her hands to wrap his arms around her, pulling her forwards against his chest. It was too close. For a split second, she wanted to push him away, to peel his touch away from her body.

But it was so warm here. Her head turned to the side, her ear pressed up against his ribcage, she could hear his heartbeat, soft and steady. In the cage of his arms, for the first time in a long time, she felt tethered to something. She had balled her hands into fists. Slowly, they unfurled, and she wrapped her arms around him, hands resting against his spine.

"My sister didn't die. She was killed." She whispered, voice muffled against his jacket, just loud enough to hear. "They bombed her factory. I was there when they pulled her out."

Everything suddenly came into alarming clarity. DeMarco nodded, releasing a long sigh. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, her curls snaking around his fingertips as he gently stroked her hair.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," He uttered, tilting his head downwards, his nose pressed against her forehead.

"I want to. You waited."

"I thought you looked a little spaced out earlier. After the raid. So that was because-?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus. I'm sorry, Suze."

"It was a few years ago, now."

"That doesn't make it okay, though. Does it?"

She looked up at him then. In the darkness, her eyes looked like bottomless pools, the brown turned black in the starlight.

"... No. It doesn't."

A few strands of hair had stuck to her cheek where her tears had begun to dry. He lifted a hand to brush them away, the warmth of her skin against his fingertip so wonderfully soft. Susie sniffed, and it was as if some trace had broken, her arms tugging away from him, the squeeze against his back suddenly gone as she stepped back. Exhaustion tugged down at her face, dark circles forming beneath her eyes. She looked so helpless it almost broke his heart.

"God," She sighed, running a hand across her brow. "I don't-... I don't know, I don't think I wanna go back to my hut. Too many questions."

"Ok," DeMarco nodded. "That's ok. I know a place. C'mon."

Susie had no idea where he would take her. Perhaps if she'd been in any better state she would've refused. But she wasn't. She was tired, and he was kind. Her mind was clouded over, thoughts barely half-formed.

But she trusted him. She'd gotten him out of the middle of nowhere when their truck broke, and now he was getting her out when she did.

"... Alright."

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 3

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |-| Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: When a routine pick-up goes awry, Susie and DeMarco find themselves stranded, and grow closer as they try to find their way back to Thorpe Abbotts

Warnings: Language, Susie and DeMarco being deeply stupid for an entire chapter

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

Susie had woken up in a bitterly foul mood, dragging herself out of bed with the sunrise and rubbing sleep from her eyes as she tiptoed across the hut, careful not to wake any of her bunkmates. She loathed pick-up runs - loathed the tedium of long drives through the countryside, with nothing to look at but grass, cows, and more grass. They were good for nothing except a bit of reprieve from the bustle of Thorpe Abbotts, although she doubted anyone on the airfield would miss her in her absence.

Still scraping her hair back into a ponytail as she left the hut, Susie rummaged in her pocket for her keys, swearing under her breath as they fell to the floor with a jangle. No one ever got up this early without a planned mission, so the place was practically deserted, the air still and silent save for the crunch of footsteps against the gravel path. There was a half-eaten packet of crackers in her pocket, and she fished them out one by one as she went, crumbs leaving her throat unbearably dry as she marched towards the ATS garages, searching for her truck.

She had just reached the door, fumbling for her car key, when a familiar bark split the air, echoing through the warehouse. Turning, brow raised, Susie came face to face with Meatball, standing in the open garage door, tail wagging as he stared up at her. Her mouth hung slightly open, frowning in confusion at the dog's sudden appearance. The sound of footsteps drew closer, but she found her questions remained unanswered even as DeMarco came into view. He'd left his uniform jacket behind, shirt only half tucked into his trousers, Meatball's leash wrapped around his hand as he approached. "Ah. Morning."

"Why are you here?" Susie asked, gaze flitting between the man and his dog, still frowning.

"Meatball needed to take a shit. S'pose I could ask you the same question."

"I work here."

"Right. Guess I can't."

She snorted, unlocking the door to her truck and pushing herself up on the step, one foot dangling in mid-air. "Supply run. Gotta go grab some food rations, but it'll take a while so I thought I'd get an early start."

DeMarco nodded, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to think them. "I'll come."

Susie stared at him like he'd stepped in something foul, or perhaps said something rude about her mother. "You what?"

He hadn't quite known he was going to offer until he did, but the more he considered it, it didn't seem a terrible idea. "Yeah, I'll come along, keep you company."

"Are you sure? It'll be dead boring - unless you're a big fan of powdered eggs and powdered milk, and... other powder, probably."

Benny smiled - something about her dry cynicism always seemed to make him laugh. "How did you know? Powder's my favourite food group."

Susie chuckled. "Oh, shut up," She chuckled, climbing into the driver's seat and reaching across to open the passenger side door. Taking this as an open invitation, he clambered up, Meatball jumping into his lap the moment he sat down. "I'm not taking the dog on a four-hour round trip."

Now it was his turn to look offended. "Four hours is nothin', he'll be fine. When I was a kid, we used to take road trips that lasted-"

"I don't care about you Americans and your weird obsession with driving. I'm dropping Meatball off when we pass your hut, or you're officially uninvited."

"Fine," Benny grumbled, leaning back in his seat as the engine started with a roar, the truck pulling out of the garage and into the morning daylight. "You had breakfast?"

Silently digging into her pocket, Susie pulled out the half-eaten pack of crackers, dry crumbs spilling over the dashboard as she put them down. She was watching the road, but could feel the look of judgement contorting DeMarco's expression, staring at the side of her face with a horrified frown. "Good God, woman."

They pulled up outside his Nissen hut on the way out of the airbase, and the moment Cleven came into view Meatball had scrambled out of the truck, bounding up to the Major, tail wagging wildly. Susie struggled to suppress a smile as DeMarco let out a sigh of defeat, begrudged at his dog's ability to seemingly love everyone more than him. "You sure that's even still your dog?" She teased, laughing as he reached across to give her a light shove to the shoulder.

He insisted she let him stop to collect some 'real food', refusing to subsist on the dry, crumbled mess of crackers she had retrieved from her pocket, a thoroughly pathetic excuse for a meal. She waited impatiently for his return, fingers drumming off-beat against the steering wheel, rolling her eyes as he came back into view, grinning triumphantly and waving a paper bag in the air. DeMarco grunted as he clambered back into the truck, presenting the sandwiches and thermos full of coffee he'd managed to acquire from the Red Cross volunteers. "They gave me the good stuff, 'cause I didn't tell 'em it was for you."

"Piss off."

They drove for a while without speaking, sitting in silence save for the quiet murmur of the radio, which dropped in and out the more remote their journey became. Benny ate his sandwich contently, watching the countryside roll past outside the window. "Y'know, I'm glad you didn't get fired."

Susie resisted a smirk. The pilot she had punched in the officers' club a few nights prior had attempted to get her into serious trouble, and he would've done so, too. But when his claim was investigated, the men who had been present mysteriously and unanimously had managed to miss the entire event. Not a single person had come forward in support of the pilot's story, and she couldn't help but suspect that someone had spread the word to keep quiet.

"Oh, yeah, it was... quite the coincidence. I didn't know you Yanks were so unobservant."

"It's a real problem - always just missing when assholes get what's comin' to 'em," He nodded in agreement, and Susie let out a huff of laughter, smiling as she shook her head.

DeMarco chuckled, holding a sandwich up to her face every now and then so that she could eat without taking her hands off the wheel. It was his first time leaving Thorpe Abbotts since arriving in England, and never before had he gotten to see the British countryside in the flesh. At one point he had rolled the window down, quickly earning a scold from Susie as farm air and the smell of animal dung filled the truck, leaving them both coughing in disgust. It had taken almost twenty minutes for the stench to dissipate, most of which she spent muttering to herself and threatening to abandon him on the roadside, but her anger seemed to subside when he gave her a biscuit to eat.

A folded-up map of East Anglia had been tucked under his seat, and the rustle of crumpled paper split the silence as Benny retrieved it, brow furrowed as he attempted to survey the lay of the land. "Where are we again?"

Susie tore her gaze from the road for a moment, pointing to one of the thin, winding country lanes. "Somewhere along there."

He nodded, considering this for a moment. "...Are you sure this is the best route?"

"Do you want to drive the bloody truck? Shut up."

"Jesus, alright."

DeMarco looked around, growing steadily more disenchanted by the English countryside with every identical field they passed, beginning more and more to understand Susie's lack of enthusiasm for the journey. The radio signal had begun to stutter so incessantly that they'd turned it off altogether, and he stewed in silence until something interesting finally caught his eye.

Stuck to the rearview mirror was a photo, edges worn soft from being handled too much. It clearly wasn't an old photograph, but it was in a terrible state, battered and creased so much that it was almost hard to decipher what it was of. But upon close inspection, DeMarco found it raised a dozen questions. Susie was there, hair cropped just below her ears, beaming so brightly that she was clearly halfway through a hearty laugh. The image couldn't have been more than a few years old, but she looked so much younger, everything about her appearance softer to the point of being unrecognisable. Beside her was another girl he didn't recognise, clearly still a teenager, dark curls falling past her shoulders, her arms wrapped around Susie's shoulders. They had the same smile, the same eyes. The girl's side of the photo was more faded than Susie's, as if someone had rubbed their finger against it over and over.

"Who's that?" He asked gently. She almost didn't seem to hear him, glancing over for barely a second. But the moment she realised what he was pointing at, the colour seemed to drain clean from her face, her cheeks turning sickly pale. Susie's hand darted out, snatching the photo off of the mirror and tucking it swiftly in her pocket out of sight.

"No one."

DeMarco frowned, gaze softening, any humour that had once lined his voice immediately sapped away. Her jaw was clenched, fist gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white, but she had put the photograph away with such deliberate, tender care that it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps. No one kept a photo in that way of someone alive.

He kept quiet after that, and Susie couldn't help but feel a twang of guilt tug within her. He had a right to ask - had a right to try and get to know her, although why he bothered she'd never know. Her bunkmates had all seen the photograph of her family, framed beside her bed, but no one had ever thought to ask about Ellie. No one had ever picked the tiny baby from the crowd of little smiling faces. Her photo stayed here, where no one else had ever laid eyes upon it until now.

She was her best-kept secret, and her most obvious lie.

"She's my sister." Susie uttered after almost ten minutes of arduous silence had passed. DeMarco had been staring blankly out of the window, his gaze drawn by the sound of her voice.

"Is it just you two?" He asked. She appreciated the effort taken to talk about her in the present tense - she didn't doubt that he'd figured it out already.

"Nah," She shook her head, chuckling slightly. "There's eight of us. She's the youngest - I'm number six."

Benny let out a low whistle. "Jesus. I pity your folks."

"We lived in a poor bit of Manchester, it's just like that. We get on well enough... Haven't seen 'em in a while."

He hummed, nodding along as she spoke, unsure of quite what to say. There were clearly things Susie wasn't saying, and he didn't want to push her, lest he risk making anything worse. "... D'you want another sandwich?"

"Yeah, actually," Susie nodded, and he fished another one out of the bag, dutifully holding it up to her mouth so she could eat.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The pick-up was quick, so quick it almost didn't feel worth the trip, tins and cartons of all kinds of foodstuffs piled up in the back of Susie's truck and secured for the long return journey. They hadn't time to waste, so after a shared cup of coffee and a quick walk around the outside of the warehouse to stretch their legs, they were back on the road again. Radio reception was better here, and they managed a rather self-conscious sing-along to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' before deciding it was less embarrassing to just sit in silence.

After a while, DeMarco had taken to filling the quiet by telling Susie stories of his time in flight training, and he was only half certain that she was actually listening. Her eyes never left the road, and she only let out a light chuckle at the funny parts, as if waiting for her cue to laugh but not actually finding it amusing. "Suze, are you listening?"

"Hm?" She hummed, confirming his hypothesis.

"Wowww," Benny nodded bitterly, slowly trailing off as he noticed a strange sound, something between a groan and a rattle reverberating from the hood of the truck. "Ok, tell me you at least hear that,"

Susie's brow furrowed, concern lacing her voice. "Yeah, I'm not deaf,"

"Coulda fooled me," He shrugged. She shot him a glare. "Sorry."

The further they went, the louder the noise grew, and within minutes of its appearance, the truck had begun to splutter and slow down, a thin trail of smoke funnelling out from beneath the hood. Susie pulled to a reluctant stop, sloping sideways into the ditch along the road's side. DeMarco jumped out, more smoke billowing out as he popped the hood, and with a cry of frustration, it became alarmingly apparent that Susie couldn't get the truck to restart now that it had stopped.

"Fuck!" She yelled, the door slamming shut behind her as she clambered out, almost slipping sideways into the ditch. "Motherfucker!"

"Well, what's wrong with it?" He called to her, staring down at the truck's insides.

"I don't know! God - I should've listened to Charlotte when she told me to get Bevan to check it."

"You didn't make sure it was working before you left?!" DeMarco cried.

"It was working fine! I don't know what's happened!"

"Yeah, maybe 'cause you're not a mechanic, Susie!"

"Shut up!" She snapped, and his mouth fell shut. "Just shut up a sec, let me think."

The pair stood side by side, hands on their hips, staring in despair at the indecipherable machinery before them. Neither had any clue what to do, and it was becoming alarmingly obvious that they were stranded, nothing but farmland as far as they could see in either direction.

"Ok... Ok," Susie huffed, lowering herself to sit on the grass at the edge of the ditch. "Just... get the map, we'll figure something out."

DeMarco swiped it from under his seat, quickly sitting down beside her. They unfolded it, stretching the huge map out across their laps and staring down at the winding roads. "You know where we are?"

"We turned here, I think," She uttered, pointing out their route. "So we're somewhere along this road, probably."

"But you're not sure."

"If I'd known we'd get stuck I definitely would've paid more attention," She snarked. "S'not my bloody fault."

"It is a little."

"You're not helping!"

"No, I know, I'm sorry. I just... don't feel great about this. But I don't blame you, by the way"

Susie let out a long sigh, raking a hand through her hair to push it out of her face. "Look. If we're on this road, which I'm pretty sure we are, there's a village just over that hill," She pointed across to the opposite field, which rose at a slope, obscuring the horizon beyond it. "We'll just... start walking that way, I guess."

Scrambling to her feet, DeMarco quickly followed, still frowning in concern. "Well, what about the truck? It's got all the food in it, we can't just leave it. What if someone comes by and takes it?"

She threw up her hands. "Well, I dunno. You stay here then, you've got a gun."

"What? No, I do not have a gun."

"Jesus, what the fuck are you good for, then?!"

He could tell she was stressed, that she didn't mean what she was saying. Susie struck him as a woman who lashed out when she didn't know what to do, and this was certainly one of those times. DeMarco let the dozen sarcastic remarks bubbling within him ebb away, deciding to just let it be. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh, feeling his heartbeat slow, his tone level out. "Let's just go, ok?"

"Ok," Susie frowned grimly.

The march towards her supposed village was miserable, and mud skirted their shoes as they trudged along the edges of fields, DeMarco nervously eyeing a flock of sheep as they passed. It was a beautiful day - the sun beating down on them, the sky a perfect blue - and if they hadn't been stuck here they might have been able to enjoy it. But now they were just beginning to sweat, an added discomfort atop everything else.

"Should've stayed in the city," Susie grumbled. "Can't tell what's mud and what's sheep shit out here."

"At least we didn't bring Meatball," He shrugged, and she let out a single burst of laughter, shrugging off her jacket in the heat.

"Bet you wish you'd stayed home."

"And leave you to march through sheep shit on your own? Never."

Susie turned her head to look back at him, flashing him a smile, her heel skidding in a wet patch of mud the moment she took her eyes off the path. DeMarco lunged forward, holding his arms out beneath hers before she could fall over, seizing her hands tightly in his. Her back was pressed against his chest, a lock of her hair caught on one of his shirt buttons. "God, this is the worst," They both began to chuckle, and she could feel the vibration of his chest against her spine.

Pausing a moment to disentangle themselves from one another, Susie regained her footing, muttering at the mud spatter that now ran up the back of her trousers. By the time they reached the top of the hill, the sight of the village she had promised was like a mirage in the desert, and Benny wasn't sure he'd ever been so glad to see anything.

"Oh, thank god there's a pub," She sighed, trudging limply down the hill towards the road.

"I'm not sure that's our priority right now," He pointed out.

Susie shook her head. "Nah - place like this? That's where everyone'll be."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Yeah, exactly."

The logic didn't add up to DeMarco, but the moment they entered the pub he conceded, for there were at least ten old men scattered about the place, drinking away like it was a Friday night at the officers' club. "Y'know, I think the English scare me a little," He whispered in her ear, eliciting a snort of amusement.

"Bloody hell, love," The man behind the bar remarked, taking in Susie's appearance as she walked in. Her shoes were caked in mud, a halo of frizz rising around her hair. "You alright?"

"Rough morning. D'you have a phone?"

He nodded, showing her around to the side of the bar where a telephone was bolted to the wall. DeMarco leant up against the wall, watching on as Susie fumbled through her jacket pockets, finally producing a crumpled piece of paper with a phone number messily scribbled upon it.

"Who's number's that?"

"Uh, just... a friend. In the village. I'll send her up to the base, get them to bring a car - go get us a beer, will you?"

He wandered off, leaving her to make the call. Benny wasn't usually the type to drink this early in the day, but after their ordeal, he decided he deserved it, and was waiting with two pints by the time she returned.

"They'll be here in the next couple hours," Susie sighed, lowering herself into the seat opposite him and taking a long, grateful sip of her beer.

DeMarco nodded, his mouth widening with a yawn. "Alright. Sounds good."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He didn't know when he'd dozed off, nor for how long he'd been asleep. All Benny knew was that one moment he'd been drinking, and the next he was opening his eyes with a grunt, Susie suddenly missing, her seat sitting empty. A jolt of panic shot through him, heart pounding for a second as consciousness rapidly returned, gaze darting around the place for any sign of her. Being stuck out here was bad enough - being stuck without Susie was infinitely worse.

The familiar sound of laughter caught his attention, following it across to the far corner of the pub and releasing a sigh of relief. With the thud of a dart hitting the board, a cheer erupted from the small group of old men that had gathered around her, and Susie turned towards them with a self-satisfied smirk. She caught his eye across the room, flashing a genuine smile before her attention was ripped away again by the competition at hand. She hadn't been lying, that night in the pub back at Thorpe Abbotts - she really was good at darts.

"Glad you woke up," Susie sighed, returning to her seat as the others took their turns. "Would've hated to have to leave you here. Although, ultimately, a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

DeMarco grinned, shaking his head as he lightly kicked her beneath the table. She gasped mockingly, faking offence. "Rude. I'll get the lads to beat you up for that."

"'The lads'?" He raised a brow. "They're visibly pushing eighty."

"And very spry for it," She nodded, and he chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. Across the room, the group of men she had been playing with let out a collective groan of disappointment, and she grinned. "Looks like I'm still winning."

Benny raised a hand to his face, wiping away the thin trail of foam that lined his top lip. "Y'know. This hasn't actually been the worst."

"It's been pretty fucking miserable," Susie shrugged.

"Well, yeah. But you're a pretty good person to be stuck with."

She seemed slightly shell-shocked for a moment, a distinct red flush tinting her cheeks. He realised he rather liked making her blush.

Susie cleared her throat, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I did enjoy having an extra hand, for sandwich-eating purposes."

"Oh, of course," DeMarco nodded, smirking.

"You should really see about getting a gun though."

"I'm not-... I'm not gonna start carrying a gun around, Susie."

She shrugged. "Your loss."

He smiled, opening his mouth to speak, when a friendly face appeared in the doorway. "... Bucky?"

Susie turned in her seat, brow raised as Egan walked in, a grin creasing his cheeks. "Benny! Heard you were in need of a rescue."

"Thank God - boy, am I ready to get outta here," He huffed, noticing the way her smile flickered slightly, erring on fading.

"Well, let's get goin' - I got some folks picking up your stuff, I'll drive you back."

She rose from her seat just after he made his move, and the pair followed Egan to the jeep waiting outside. Susie quietly slid into the backseat, looking up in surprise as DeMarco climbed in after her, leaving Bucky alone up front.

"You guys look like crap, by the way," He pointed out, eyeing them in the rearview mirror. Benny leant back against the seat, feeling tiredness fill his body once again as the engine started with a roar.

"Eh. Worth it."